


Jonesing

by DunningKrugerExplainsEverything



Category: Borderlands
Genre: F/F, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything/pseuds/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridium. It's the splash of water on cracked, seared throats. It's the touch of ice on scorched tongues. It's the patter of raindrops on burning skin. Lilith/Maya/Angel friendship, with bonus Maya/Moxxi slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND GAME. In this continuity, Angel survives the events of Borderlands 2, which I guess makes this fic AU.**

 

**Jonesing**

 

The Eridium Injector weighs seven hundred and twenty-six pounds.

Fuel cells. Carbon moderators. Cadmium control rods. Reinforced pressure vessels. Steam generator. Three different varieties of coolant. Valve assemblies. Hoses. Filters. Cartridges. Canisters. Pistons.

The Vault Hunters scattered across Pandora, and, gradually, wheelbarrows filled with junk began wobbling their way through the streets of Sanctuary, coming to a stop outside Crazy Earl's door. Earl grumbled obscenities and muttered complaints and scratched his head and pulled his ear, and then began jumbling together the contraption that would keep Angel alive.

“You gon' jam this sucka in a little girl's chest, be my guest,” he barked, a damp, smouldering cigarette somehow clinging to his lips. “Least she'll die _high_ , heh, heh. That, I _guar-an-tee!_ ”

The Eridium Injector weighs seven hundred and twenty-six pounds. A bulky, twisty, unwieldy confusion of flashing lights and moving parts and treacherously hot metal.

Brick needs no help.

“Alright, check this shit,” he says, rubbing his hands and sauntering forward. His arms circle around the massive thing. “ _Get yo' ass in the air!_ ”

The Eridium Injector leaves the ground, and then Brick lowers it onto the four-wheeled chassis that Scooter donated from his shop.

A lengthy tube extends from the Injector, and terminates in an induction port just between Angel's second and third ribs. And so it is that Angel comes to provide Sanctuary with one of its most vivid, most pitiful images: a little girl trudging disconsolately through the streets of the city, her gigantic respirator dragging behind her as she goes.

Of course, Angel's not nearly strong enough to move the Injector herself; not even an inch. Gaige vanished for a few hours inside her workshop, and when eventually the door opened, a droid with boosters for legs and enormous hydraulics in its arms emerged.

“We'll call him _...Mr. Jones!”_ Gaige said, a wicked grin on her face. Then she saw Angel's confused-yet-achingly-grateful expression, and for some strange reason her heart shattered into a million pieces.

Gaige decided not to explain the joke.

 

()()()()()()()()

 

Lilith wakes up in her bunk, and knows at once that there are three chunks of eridium in her personal lock-up.

Three chunks of eridium.

One for breakfast. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. NOW. NOW. NOW.

One for when she's halfway through the day.

One for when she climbs back into her bunk.

Three chunks of eridium. She'll be awake for nineteen hours, today.

Nineteen hours. Three chunks. That's nine hours, thirty minutes between each consumption.

Nine hours, thirty minutes for the buzz to wear off.

Nine hours, thirty minutes for that familiar craving to creep in.

Nine hours, thirty minutes, stretching on and on and on and on and on and on.

The world seems so much more _dismal,_ so much more _miserable_ , without eridium.

Life seems so much more of a _drag._

Eridium is the splash of water on cracked, seared throats.

Eridium is the touch of ice on scorched tongues.

Eridium is the patter of rain on burning skin.

Nineteen hours. Three chunks. Nine hours, thirty minutes between each consumption.

One in the morning.

One in the afternoon.

One, just before bed.

The last is the most important. The last is the most _crucial._ Can't fall asleep when your skin is slick with sweat. Can't fall asleep when your heart is hammering away, _thumpathumpathumpathump_. Can't fall asleep when your stomach sends torrents of raging magma rushing up your windpipe every few seconds. When Lilith goes to bed without her fix, the acid keeps gushing up her throat, sloshing into her mouth. She gulps down water. She coughs and hacks. She hucks and spits, trying to drag up every little globule of phlegm she has in an attempt to engulf the stuff, but still it burns.

Three chunks of eridium. One for the morning, one for the afternoon, one for bed.

By noon, Lilith has already consumed the lot.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya had rather been hoping she'd get to see Moxxi without her make-up on.

The sheets are twisted and tossed. There are pillows underneath bellies, in between legs, under asses. Various articles of clothing are strewn about the floor, or hanging from assorted pieces of furniture.

Maya and Moxxi had not been gentle with each other, last night.

Maya yawns, and rubs her face. She pushes aside some strands of hair, picks the crusts from her eyes, and then turns and looks up into an immaculately-rendered kabuki clown face.

Maya stares at Moxxi in bewilderment a moment. “Did you wake up before me so that you could touch up your make-up?” she says, in a voice thick with mucus and grogginess.

She receives the slightest shrug in return. “A girl's gotta look the part.”

Moxxi glides across the sheets. Her hand goes to Maya's hip, her arm goes around her neck, and then Moxxi presses her lips to Maya's mouth. Maya yields, and tongues mingle, and then...

And then Moxxi recoils away in theatrical horror.

“Oh, morning breath!” she says, waving away some imaginary toxic fumes. “Did they teach you _nothing_ at that damn monastery? When you spend the night with someone, you're supposed to hide a stick of gum under the pillow.”

Maya groans, and rolls her eyes. _“Genius,”_ she says.

Maya pushes herself into a sitting position, and looks around the room for a clock. Six-forty-five. Moxxi has a business empire to see to. Maya has chores to do.

Out of bed, and now Maya is on the floor, balancing on toes and palms upon the varnished wood. She begins firing off crisp, machine-like push-ups; one, two, three, four...

“Huh,” Moxxi says, not quite able to keep the wry smile in check. “Showing off, are we?”

Eight, nine, ten, eleven. Maya doesn't miss a beat. “It's what they taught me in the monastery,” she says. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one.

Moxxi stands over Maya a moment, silently approving. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Pandora has honed every muscle in Maya's body. Pandora has rendered Maya as sleek and lean as any of the creatures that prowl its lands. Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four.

Moxxi gathers up a bundle of shampoos, conditioners, gels and creams, and then heads into the shower. Next time, she promises herself, she'll ask Maya to begin with crunches.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

The Eridium Injector weighs six hundred and fifty-three pounds. Each week, it grows lighter and lighter. Wheelbarrows of junk keep tottering their way towards the Black Market, and Crazy Earl keeps refining the design.

“The word is _miniaturization!”_ Earl growls. “Making things smaller, doing the same thing. Heh heh heh. Miniaturization. _Heh heh heh heh heh!_ The Grand Unifying Theory of Human Misfortune!”

The Vault Hunters stare at Earl in amazement. They've never seen him so talkative.

Earl rips out the Maystein containment silo, and replaces it with a six-chambered Egon refinement plant. Twenty pounds lighter. Earl yanks out fifteen metres of insulated Baxter Conduit, and replaces it with a point-to-point teleporter system. Fifteen pounds lighter.

Angel has a steady supply of eridium to keep herself sane. Maya, Gaige, Axton, Salvador, Zero and Brick all chip in. Eventually, it will be nice if Angel could recover enough strength to become a Vault Hunter herself, and collect her own eridium. Her muscles are atrophied. Her internal organs aren't in the best shape. Tannis seems to think that soon her liver and kidneys will need to be replaced. She'll probably need an artificial lung, also.

“Transhuman Massive _RE-PRES-ENT!”_ Gaige screeches, throwing up a five. Angel gives a shy smile and smacks her hand, her insides bubbling with desperate, pathetic gratitude.

Mordecai doesn't drink so much these days. Bloodwing the Second is two months old, now.

Bloodwing II doesn't really seem to like Angel at all.

 

()()()()()()()()

 

One day, a question comes to Lilith's mind.

She doesn't know where it came from, can't imagine how it got planted there, but nevertheless a question materializes suddenly in her thoughts. The blood in her veins sizzles and boils, and bile leaps to the top of her throat, and fires lick at the underside of her skin.

_Would I ever steal from my friends?_

The Vault Hunters are a military unit, which means that the Vault Hunters are a _family_. They share _everything._ Food, money, booze, weapons, ammo, a roof, sleeping quarters, showers, stories, victories, defeats, triumphs, disappointments.

Nevertheless, each Vault Hunter is an individual. They all have secrets. They each have a _life,_ separate and distinct.

They each have a place in Sanctuary where they keep their _stuff._

What would happen if, say...Gaige woke one morning and discovered that her locker had been broken open, the padlock melted away, and all of her eridium gone?

What would happen if Mordecai came down one day to find the doors of his storeroom blasted away, and his personal stash of eridium vanished?

What would happen if Angel – poor, poor Angel, she of the hunched shoulders and the stooped posture and the downcast eyes – paid a visit to that little container they gave her, only to find a great charred hole in the side, and all of her precious mana stolen away?

Everyone in Sanctuary loves how hilariously clueless Lilith can be about basic social customs.

They think it's _charming_ , the way she blurts out painfully intimate details of her love lives.

They think it's _hilarious_ , the way she is utterly incapable of tact and discretion.

_Oh, Lilith._

Deep down, Lilith hates being an object of hilarity. _Of course_ she does. She hates the fact that countless little jokes and anecdotes pass around Sanctuary, and that she is the object.

But what if Sanctuary knew that she was a _thief_?

What if Sanctuary knew that Lilith stole from her friends? What if they knew that Lilith, the oddball Siren, forced her way into her friends' belongings and stole their eridium? What if Sanctuary knew that Lilith was such a pathetic, weak-willed junkie that she had to betray the people that trusted her the most?

What whispers would pass around Sanctuary, then?

 

()()()()()()()()

 

For no reason whatsoever, Maya decides that it's time for another reinvention.

The sun is at the highest point in the sky when Maya saunters into Slab Town. She sniffs about a bit, and then finds what she's looking for. A trio of women, scrawny, feral, with markings on their skin and grisly mementoes and trophies in their hair, are sat in the shade, murmuring and muttering to one another. These girls are _storied_ brigands. These girls survived for years in the most formidable, most don't-fuck-with-us-able gang in Pandora.

Only a Vault Hunter would have the stones to approach them.

“I wanna look like a _demon_!” Maya tells them, with cheery confidence.

She waits patiently as they stare at her, and then at each other.

A chair is found, and the bandits go to work. They dye her hair; alternating streaks of black and red. They paint her face – black eye sockets, skull-white skin, teeth caked with blood. All manner of straps and chains are wrapped around her arms. One of the bandits winds barbed wire around her left biceps – Maya isn't sure how long before _that_ gets old, but she'll give it a try. Her combat outfit is discarded in a corner, replaced by an assortment of rags that Maya hopes have a certain _flea-market_ charm.

After fifteen minutes, a massive form looms in the mirror. Rumbling laughter.

“Mmhh, heh, heh, heh!” Brick says, a massive hand clamping on Maya's shoulder. “The Slabs tell me you wanna look _scary._ All good, all good.” A fist smacks into a waiting palm. “Suckers oughta know when the _pain's_ comin'!”

Maya grants him her best evil smile – damn, the blood around her mouth really adds to the effect. The bandits tie knick-knacks in her hair. A molar from the jaw of a Badass Goliath – Maya broke three metacarpals that day, punching it out. A sniper shell that she yanked out of a Pyre Thresher's skull – she was the one that put it there in the first place, of course.

Brick doesn't have it _exactly_ right. Maya doesn't want to scare people. Maya isn't interested in intimidating her enemies. Maya has no interest in getting in touch with her _wild side._

Maya just wants people to stare at her. Maya wants to walk through the streets of Sanctuary, and pretend not to notice as the citizenry do double takes.

The sun is vanishing over the Three Horns when Maya strolls through Sanctuary's main gate. “Well, hell,” Private Jessop mutters to himself. “That ain't regulation.”

Double-takes, just as predicted.

Badly-disguised stares, just as Maya expected.

“ **OOOOOOH! DAMN, GIRL!”**

Oh, Gaige. So predicable.

“ _You let_ _ **bandits**_ _dress you?”_

Maya peers at herself in a tiny, grimy mirror on the wall. “There's a certain...I dunno... _primitive appeal_ , isn't there?” she says. “Kind of a primal beauty to it, I think.”

Gaige gazes at Maya a moment in horror, and then hurriedly shakes her head, as though trying to dislodge all sorts of unpleasant imagery from her mind. “I...I'm glad I caught you,” she goes on, a bit shaken. “First thing tomorrow, you and I are going to Opportunity. There exist certain _establishments_ there which you would _never ever_ find without my expertise in matters fashionable and sartorial.” Gaige extends her robotic arm, and distastefully grips a fold of Maya's shirt between finger and thumb. “These... _things_...have no business being worn by a Vault Hunter. Ew. What you need, Msssssssss. Maya, is _lace_ , and, and _fishnets,_ and _leather_ , and I know where we can get the choicest, most _tastefully_ expensive brands! Plus, Deathtrap looks so _cute_ with a bunch of shopping bags, you have no idea!”

Outside the headquarters, they suddenly hear the sound of boosters burning and wheels trundling. Mister Jones is near.

“Hey, you!” Maya says, strolling out the door.

Angel turns, and her forehead creases in befuddlement. Maya strikes an obliging pose. “Wow, you've changed your look,” Angel says, and Maya swears she can see the slightest hint of sadness pass across her face. You could dress Angel in any costume in the universe – she'd still look like a sick, gaunt girl. “You look really cool, Maya.”

“Thanks,” Maya says, and the blood around her mouth adds a peculiar warmth to her smile. “Here, I've got a present for you.”

Maya fishes about in her rucksack, and two chunks of eridium are placed in Angel's palms. Something about Angel's smile makes Maya's heart melt.

 

**Honestly, I don't even know if anyone actually uses the term 'Massive' any more.**

 

**I'll post the next chapter when possible. I've been REALLY awful with abandoning fics, lately, but I luvs me my Borderlands, and I'll do my best.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 2**

 

Late one brisk spring morning, Hyperion returns to Pandora.

The comm crackles to life. “Uh, guys,” says Private Jessop. “There's a craft approaching. South-West. It's headed for the main gate. Gonna be on top of us in...four minutes.”

Three minutes later, a respectable-enough contingent of Crimson Raiders have assembled at the main entrance to Sanctuary, their eyes fixed to the skies. Silence for a few lingering moments...and then a small shape breaks from the clouds, and begins to descend towards them. It's a tiny transporter, bright yellow and stylishly-streamlined.

The H-word begins to pass among the Raiders.

The craft floats down to the ground. A trio of mechanical legs extend from the undercarriage, and plant themselves on the road as a ring of snow is cast outwards. An entryway opens up at the rear of the transporter, a set of steps reach down to the ground, and Mr. Jeffrey Blake, Hyperion's senior vice president of Mercenary Relations, Research and Development, Patent Troll Hunting and Tourism, steps out, and gives Sanctuary a bloodless, cocksure smile.

Axton is there. As the Raiders keep their distance, wary and unsure, he ambles forward. In his right arm, he is cradling a Dahl assault rifle, complete with scope and extended magazine. With his left hand, he holds the compacted Sabre Turret; as he walks, he sends it spinning upwards through the air, catching it again on the way down. He tosses it again and again and again and again, and never bothers looking, and Blake has more than an inkling that if it ever reaches the ground, it will sprout multiple barrels and render him an unsightly stain upon the ground.

“This is, uh, this is some _refuge in audacity_ deal, ain't it?” Axton calls out. “You probably figured that if you just _turned up_ here in your snooty little suit, with your expensive striped tie, and your cute little striped socks, that I wouldn't empty a whole clip intyer head, din't ya? You thought that if you came prancing in here, with no soldiers, no bodyguards, no droids, no goddamn reinforcements, that we'd all be so _paralyzed_ with confusion, we wouldn't just _vaporize_ you. Them's some devious tactics, genius!”

“Oh, nothing but modesty from me, Vault Hunter,” comes the reply. Blake's hands are stretched out in overture...and, of course, an implied assurance that he is unarmed, and _not at all_ dangerous. “Shall I get straight to the point? I'll not waste your precious time.”

“Whattaya want?” Axton says.

“I was hoping to pay a visit to one of the citizens of your city,” Blake tells him. His voice is remarkably confident for a man who knows that half a dozen rifles are aimed at his forehead. “Do you think the Siren Angel might be in the mood for a _chat?”_

Axton escorts Blake through the streets, two palpably-dubious Crimson Raiders following closely behind. The inhabitants of the city go about their lives, and pay them little heed; Blake is just a man in a fancy suit, not a representative of the galactic conglomerate that almost succeeded in slaughtering them all.

“I'll be waiting right outside,” Axton tells Blake. “I so much as hear the girl raise her voice, I'm bludgeoning you to death with my turret.”

Blake checks his cufflinks. “I'm sure Dahl will be _thrilled_ that one of their competitors has fallen to their technology,” he says, and then a question occurs to him. “The Warrior was defeated several months ago, wasn't it?” he says. “An entire _collection_ of Vaults was revealed, all across the galaxy, and yet...”

Blake gives Axton a pointed look.

“The Vault Hunters are still on _Pandora_ ,” he says.

Axton gives Blake his best 'don't-fuck-with-us' glare. “We'll leave when we _feel like it.”_

Angel is waiting for Blake in a cluttered, grimy garage. She has obviously spent several minutes sitting down, standing up, crossing her legs, crossing her arms, straightening herself, trying to find the most dominant, formidable, unwelcoming demeanour for her visitor. She's not exactly Sanctuary's most intimidating Siren.

The Eridium Injector weighs six hundred and nineteen pounds.

Mr. Jones is lurking in a corner. He has the strength to tear Blake's arms and legs from his torso, but, for some reason, Angel doesn't seem any more _impressive_ when he's looming behind her.

“ _Angel!”_ Blake grandly exclaims, clasping his hands together in glee. He briefly looks around for somewhere to sit, though it quickly becomes apparent that Angel intends for him to stand. “Such a _pleasure_ to see you again, girl, after all that's happened! And rather a _novelty_ to behold you _in the flesh_. Most of our conversations in the past took place across ECHO Space, didn't they?”

In a flash, Blake switches from creepily convivial to unsettlingly condolent.

“Hyperion would be _woefully_ remiss not to take this opportunity to offer commiserations on your recent... _bereavement,”_ he says, in a hush. “Your father will be _sorely_ missed. He brought this corporation to _dizzying_ new heights.”

If Blake's intention is to make Angel so angry that she is literally too paralysed with rage to respond...he almost succeeds. “No, Mister Blake,” she says, her voice laced with venom and laden with resentment. “ _I did._ It was me. I opened the Vault. I released the eridium into Pandora. I was the one that destroyed New Haven. _Me_. Every time dad screwed up, I was the one that put everything right again. It was always me.”

Blake gives a sober nod. “Well, not many in the know would argue that.”

Blake begins pacing the room in front of her. “It will likely come as little surprise to you to know that Hyperion Corporation is currently in the middle of some... _managerial upheaval,”_ he says. “With your father dead, there are various _factions_ jockeying for leadership of the company. Directors, shareholders, chairmen...all very complicated. All very _convoluted._ Too early to say who will come out on top.”

Blake stops pacing, and swivels on his heel to face Angel again.

“Of course,” he says, “if the Guardian Angel were to return, all this uncertainty would be moot.”

Angel splutters with laughter. Bitter, joyless laughter.

“Every piece of Hyperion technology in the galaxy is susceptible to your will,” Blake intones. “If you were to decide, five minutes from now, that you wished to claim the corporation for yourself, well, who would be in a position to refuse you? Every Hyperion droid in every solar system system would answer to you. Every computer system in the entire company would obey your every wish. Every AI in our service would recognize you as their queen. With your father gone, your authority would be _absolute._..and I would be _ecstatically_ happy to be your second-in-command.”

Angel snorts. “You were always so happy to be someone's lap-dog.”

Blake gives her his most buttery, most syrupy smile. “Angel, it is fair to say that I am a _devout_ believer in the Peter Principle.”

Blake comes as close to Angel as he dares, and lowers himself to one knee. He makes sure not to come too close. He knows how _distasteful_ she finds his company.

He doesn't take it personally.

“Think of your _friends_ , Angel,” Blake says. Angel glares at him with blazing eyes, but Blake does not flinch, does not recoil. He holds her gaze. “The Vault Hunters. Think of how much _use_ you could be to them, if you could throw the entire weight of Hyperion behind their backs! For goodness' sake, dozens of Vaults have been revealed throughout the universe, and the Vault Hunters can't even leave Pandora! You haven't the _resources_! You need ships, personnel, supplies, vast amounts of money, and so you're all scratching around this desert hellhole, clawing together however much you can, scrimping and saving until you have enough to get off the surface! There was one rumour I heard, in particular: apparently, there are rumblings that Maya is going to become an _arena fighter...”_

“Actually, she is,” Angel tells him.

Blake throws up his hands. “Imagine that! A _Siren_ , forced to perform as an attraction at a fighting arena!”

Angel shrugs. “She sounds really happy about it, as a matter of fact...”

“The Vault Hunters deserve better than to rot away on this cesspool of a world,” Blake says, dragging Angel's focus back to where he wishes it to be. “They deserve _corporate sponsorship!_ Take Hyperion, Angel! You can give your friends everything they need!”

When Angel was twelve years old, her father shackled her to Hyperion's throne. He stretched her mind like an elastic band across an entire galaxy. With Jack dead, Angel knew that Hyperion was now hers for the taking – but she also knew that, if she chose to reclaim the corporation, there would be a _price_.

In order to inherit her father's empire, Angel would need to expose herself to torrents of eridium.

 _Willingly_ , this time.

In order to find the power to control all of Hyperion's technology, Angel would have to fill her veins with that loathsome substance.

Blake prepares to leave, but before he goes, there is one more thing to mention.

“There is, of course, a _corollary_ to consider,” he says. “If you do not assume control of the company, someone will. Eventually. And when such a time comes, that party will seek to... _consolidate_ their authority.”

Again, the bitter, spiteful laughter. “Yes,” Angel says. “They'll be paranoid that I might come back and take Hyperion from them.”

Blake nods. His expression is grim.

“Food for thought,” he says.

 

()()()()()()()()()

 

Five chunks of eridium.

That's what Lilith needs to get through the day. That's what Lilith needs to make each day tolerable. _Comfortable._

One when she wakes up.

One for lunch.

One for dinner.

One just before bed.

And one for whenever the hell she feels like it. _A wild-card chunk_. A snack.

Five chunks of eridium.

Five chunks, and Lilith is in a good mood for the day.

Five chunks, and Lilith sniggers at Salvador's idiot jokes.

Five chunks, and Lilith saunters around Crimson Raiders Headquarters with that distinctive _swivel_ in her hips.

Five chunks, and Lilith brings dat swag.

Five chunks of eridium.

When the Vault Hunters defeated the Warrior, they discovered a map which unveiled the location of an entire network of Vaults, located in solar systems all throughout the galaxy.

Vault Hunters hunt for vaults. It's What They Do.

Trouble is, space travel is rather _time-consuming._

From Pandora, the nearest vault is on a planet called Arius.

On a light-speed vessel, Arius is seven weeks' travel.

Seven weeks.

Seven weeks is forty-nine days.

Lilith needs to consume five chunks of eridium each day.

In order to travel to Arius without falling into eridium withdrawal, Lilith needs at least two-hundred-and-forty-five chunks of eridium.

In order to reach Arius without going insane, tearing apart the ship and causing her fellow Vault Hunters to suffocate in the vacuum of space, Lilith needs at least two-hundred-and-forty-five chunks of eridium.

Once they reach Arius, how long will it take to locate the Vault? How long will it take for them to open it up?

A week?

Six weeks?

Three months?

Better be safe. _Four months._ Vault Hunting takes time.

Four months. That's one-hundred-and-twenty days.

Lilith needs five chunks of eridium every day.

That's six hundred chunks of eridium.

Plus the two-hundred-and-forty-five chunks that Lilith needs to fly to Arius in the first place.

In order to travel to Arius, Lilith needs eight-hundred-and-forty-five chunks of eridium.

Lilith needs to stock a ship with eight-hundred-and-forty-five chunks of eridium.

Oh, crap.

Lilith groans, and kicks the desk. “I hate frickin' math,” she says.

Mordecai looks up, and then looks around, confused. “Heh?”

Back to work. Okay, nightmare scenario: so the Vault Hunters go to Arius, and find the Vault, and open it. What happens if eridium doesn't start flooding Arius, like with Pandora? Just because it happened once, doesn't mean it will happen the same way. What if Lilith finds herself on Arius, with her eridium supply all used up, and no way of getting more?

She'd have to go back to damn Pandora, wouldn't she?

Another seven week journey.

Another two-hundred-and-forty-five chunks of eridium.

In order to safely go to Arius, Lilith needs one thousand and ninety chunks of eridium.

How much does she have now, in her lock-up?

Thirteen chunks.

Lilith leans back in her chair, a massive great mountain rising up in front of her. _“Great,”_ she mutters.

Deep down, Lilith knows that she's being unfair to the others. Lilith could stay on Pandora. The rest of the Vault Hunters could head off to find the Vaults. Brick. Mordi. Maya. Gaige. Axton. Zero. Salvador. Vault-Hunter-In-Training Tina.

Leave the junkie behind. She and Angel can keep each other company.

But Lilith is the most powerful Vault Hunter there is. By an order of fucking magnitude. Lilith is the Big Gun.

Lilith is supposed to protect them.

If the others go to Arius, they might get hurt. One of them might get killed. They might have been saved, if Lilith had been around.

Lilith can't go Vault Hunting. Lilith can't protect her friends, because she's such a weakling addict.

Lilith takes a deep breath, and then lets loose a long, laboured sigh.

One thousand and ninety chunks of eridium.

All around Pandora, Handsome Jack's eridium drills have been lying dormant for months, now. Silent. Dead.

“Well,” Lilith says. “Guess we'll see if we can get them working again.”

Lilith pushes her ass off the chair, and leaves Crimson Headquarters. She pays Scooter a visit, and asks about reactivating the eridium excavators. She digistructs a Outrunner, and tours the Three Horns, inspecting the drills.

Just before she goes to bed, later that night, Lilith realizes that she consumed seven chunks of eridium that day.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

The fans love Maya. Little girls paint their faces to resemble skulls and wear wigs on their little heads, red and black. Men and women gaze in wonderment as this black-clad vision of leather and lace darts and dances around the arena, casting torrents of gunfire at her adversaries. They raise their palms to the sky, ten thousand spectators each summoning their own imaginary phaselocks. They bellow and chant, her name rising to the rafters, rumbling in the metal: _MA-YA, MA-YA, MA-YA_.

The Torgue shareholders love Maya. She's so _marketable!_ She's a _Siren_ , one of a chosen few anointed by a long-vanished race of alien gods! She can imprison her opponents in a bizarre parallel universe! She can rearrange her adversaries' internal organs, just by thinking about it! She wears black, dyes her hair, and covers herself in bizarre-yet-cool make-up! She looks really good on posters!

TORGUE LOVES MAYA! SHE DRINKS FOLKS' F&@^ING BLOOD! SHE GOES INTO WEIRD-ASS TRANCES AND S#&T! SHE SUCKS HER VICTIMS INTO SOME F*%$ED-UP ALTERNATE DIMENSION!

It all makes Maya rather... _uncomfortable_.

“For twenty-seven years, the people of my world worshipped the ground that I walked on,” Maya tells her manager, one evening. “And then I found out that it all meant... _nothing_. How is this any different? Really?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Moxxi says, patting Maya's shoulder. They're in Maya's private dressing room at the Torgue Arena. Maya doesn't change with other contestants – Moxxi made sure of that.

Moxxi walks around the bench that Maya is slumped upon, and stands directly in front of her. Through the walls of the arena, they can hear the roar of the crowd – waves and waves of hungry, impatient screaming. In a little while, Maya will be fighting for the entertainment of twenty thousand shrieking, bloodthirsty admirers...but for now, Moxxi knows that she must perform for an audience of _one_.

Moxxi reaches forward, and places a single fingertip under Maya's chin. “The people of Athenas worshipped you because they were _afraid_ of you, honey. But those people out there? They worship you because _they love you. They adore you, Maya._ Just think, babe. For a few hours, you make them forget about their idiot, slob bosses. For a few hours, you make them forget about the miserable little shacks that they have to live in. For just a little while, you make them forget about every little thing that's wrong in their lives. That's how _special_ you are, beautiful. All you have to do is step out under those lights, and for a few hours, twenty thousand people don't have a problem in the world. That's why they worship you, vixen. That's what makes you a _goddess.”_

Angel gives a smirk. She gazes up into Moxxi's eyes. “You know, when you eventually break my heart, it's gonna age me about twenty years.”

Moxxi pouts. “Oh, getting older is nothing to be frightened of, kitten,” she says. “At my age, all kinds of beautiful young women want to get to know me.”

Maya doesn't do a very good job of disguising her grin. Moxxi wanders off to attend to some business, leaving Maya to put the finishing touches to her war paint.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 3**

 

Angel imagines what it would be like to build a new empire.

Her _own_ empire.

Gaige is such a fucking _badass._ Sometimes, Gaige drapes herself across Deathtrap's shoulder like one of those buxom models painted on the sides of antiquated ships from olden times. Sometimes, Gaige stands with her hands on her hips, Deathtrap looming in the background, claws out and electricity crackling. Once, Gaige popped a cigar in her mouth, and just strutted about while Deathtrap slashed and hacked and burned bandits to death as they cowered in their portaloos.

Actually, that last one didn't end _quite_ so well. Much retching and gagging. _“How do you smoke those things?”_ she screamed at Salvador.

Angel wonders what it would be like to have her own Deathtrap.

No! _Ten_ Deathtraps. An entire battalion of lethal wardroids hulking in formation behind her. A whole bombardment of bullets and missiles and slag and fire, all ready to be loosed upon her enemies the moment the order left her lips.

Oooh, oooh! And above their heads, a squadron of drones. Black, sleek, bristling with weaponry. A grim host of airborne destroyers, and all that was needed for a storm of laser-guided death and destruction to be unleashed upon their adversaries was for Angel to say one word: “Fire.”

_And a Badassasaurus!_

Angel launches from her seat, screeching, and then staggers around the room, her hands flapping at the wrists. _Imagine having her own Badassasaurus!_ Ohmygawd ohmygawd. She could command it to eat bandits while they were hiding in their Technicals! She could order it to immolate bandit strongholds with the massive-ass flamethrower in its mouth! She could stand on its head while it rumbled about the battlefield, crushing her opponents beneath its enormous wheels! She could stand high, high above, and watch as her legions conquered the lands of Pandora, as her robotic armies crushed her enemies, as fleets of her ships soared over her in the skies!

Eyes wide, Angel gazes into the distance. _Guess I'd be able to call myself a Vault Hunter, then,_ she thinks.

Phase-shift.

That's the unique gift that Angel's Siren heritage has given her. Angel can inveigle her way into the circuits and digital conduits of any piece of machinery she encounters. She can _insert_ _her consciousness_ into a machine, _inhabit_ silicon and fibre-wires and conductive pathways. She can mentally hack into a computer, or a vehicle, or an appliance, or a device, and compel it to do whatever she wishes.

Trouble is, she needs to _practice._

Angel spent her entire life surrounded by Hyperion technology. Hyperion ships and Hyperion guns and Hyperion droids and Hyperion engines. Hyperion motherboards and Hyperion drivers and Hyperion firewalls and Hyperion operating systems.

Angel has spent a decade honing her skills on Hyperion products. She is intimately familiar with all the quirks and idiosyncrasies that the company incorporates into its technologies. She has amassed an absolutely enormous amount of knowledge about Hyperion manufacturing processes, and has developed an utterly unmatched intuition for its machines' internal workings. In a matter of microseconds, Angel can not only bring any Hyperion technology completely under her control, but she can raise them to unrivalled levels of optimization.

Hyperion technology.

Angel doesn't know a fucking thing about Torgue.

Well, she knows a few things. She knows that Torgue silencers are completely useless given that every single Torgue bullet _explodes._ She knows that Torgue weapons tend to jam at inopportune moments.

Angel knows that the Torgue Badassasaurus can do a 1440 while breathing corrosive fire, and every time it does, she jumps to her feet and shrieks like everyone else in the arena.

But the composition and engineering of Torgue technology?

Dahl technology?

Jakobs?

Tediore?

Pangolin?

Vladof?

_I dunno._

The Eridium Injector weighs five hundred and eighty pounds.

Angel's father transfixed her upon the metal throne of Hyperion, but he never succeeded in trapping her completely. She broke free. Eventually.

The Vault Hunters have trapped her, however. Maya, Lilith, Gaige, all the others; they made it look _easy_. Angel's father could not imprison her with all the technology of his empire, but the Vault Hunters have taken away her freedom with nothing more than sympathy, and pity, and infuriating, humiliating charity.

The Vault Hunters have made a prisoner of a Siren Techo-Goddess simply by feeling sorry for her.

Gaige is such a fucking badass, but she's also _really, really fucking annoying._ I mean, does she really think – does Gaige _really, seriously think_ – that Angel appreciates it when she treats her like a whimpering little poodle who needs a new leg? Does Gaige honestly believe that Angel is _grateful_ when she treats her like a _clotheshorse_ , like some sort of living doll that she gets to dress up?

When Gaige is all alone, and she pushes flick knives and box cutters into her thigh, does she even realize that Angel is watching? Does she realize that just the smallest part of Angel – just the teeeeensiest part – thinks to herself: _you deserve it._

Angel imagines what it would be like to build a new empire.

She knows that Pandora is littered with machines. Disused vehicles abandoned in the dunes. Rusting droids standing still as statues, not doing anything because their masters were killed and their killers were too stupid to operate them. Broken robots lying in the dust – shattered and ravaged, but they could be repaired.

One day, Angel will get her strength back.

Cut her lungs out, and her kidneys, and as many inches of her intestines as Doctor feels necessary. Chop her feet off, so the infection doesn't reach her legs. Angel doesn't care. When you've been impaled by three massive eridium injectors, body horror somewhat loses its effectiveness.

Someday, Angel will walk out of Sanctuary. Crazy Earl will shrink that eridium injector to the size of a darn thermal flask, and then Angel will digistruct an Outrunner and race off into the plains.

She'll look for machines. Robots. Tediore, Dahl, Maliwan, Atlas; it doesn't matter. She'll repair them, and then she'll figure a way into their positronic brains. She'll bend them to her will. She'll bring them into her kingdom.

Droids, drones, turrets, tanks. And a Badassasaurus, of course. Somehow. Mr. Torgue probably throws them out in the trash, from time to time. Eventually, Angel will get lucky.

Angel will build her own robot warband. They'll advance across the deserts and tundras of Pandora, a massive cloud of smoke and dust rising behind them. Get a load of _that_ , bandits.

There will be no Hyperion technology. Not a single trace. Her entire life, Angel spent in Hyperion, and one moment she's proud of. Not Hew Haven. Not the opening of the Vault. Angel is done with Hyperion.

Angel casts a baleful glance at the massive shape floating in the corner. Mr. Jones will not be extended an invitation, either.

Angel will become a Vault Hunter. She'll become one of the best. But she won't be known as The Siren, no. They'll call her...hmmm, what will they call her? _The Technomage!_ No. _The Junk Queen!_ No...

Eventually, Angel will get her health back. In the meantime, she'll get _ready._ She'll study all these strange technologies. Vladof. Maliwan. Anshin. Dahl. Torgue. _Especially Torgue._ She'll make sense of them all.

Angel can hear Gaige as she approaches. “Angeeeeel!”

She comes to a halt somewhere in the kitchen.

“Ooh!” She must have noticed the tray of brownies Brick left on the counter.

“Mmmf mmf mmfh.” Somehow, Gaige's chomping and chewing carries through solid walls.

“Angel?” She's on the move again.

A door opens, and Gaige swishes in. “Perks of being awesome!” she chirrups, whipping out a trio of tickets. Angel can make out the Torgue logo. “No self-respecting Vault Hunter would be _seen dead_ in the nosebleed section. This evening, Ms. Guardian Angel, Ms. Mechromancer and Ms. Tiny Tina will be spectating in style in the Torgue VIP box! Maya versus the Ruptured Verucas, Live Toniiiiight!”

Angel's face lights up. “Cool,” she says.

 

()()()()()()()()()

 

It breaks Mordecai's heart, the knowledge that Sanctuary will be left behind.

“No, Mordi, we can't _bring the town with us to Arius,”_ Gaige told him, earlier that day.

“Can't you just...” Mordecai threw up his shoulders. “I dunno. Strap thrusters onto it, or something?”

Gaige blinked. A teenager now had to explain something _really, really simple_ to a man as old as her father. “Sanctuary was built on an interplanetary mining ship,” she said, employing that distinctive questioning intonation of which youngsters are oh-so-fond and the middle-aged oh-so-hate. “ _Interplanetary._ Not _interstellar._ This baby's not going anywhere.”

You know the Vault Hunters have a problem when their chief engineer is an eighteen-year-old girl.

“It's just a freakin' ship,” Lilith tells him, when evening comes. “We'll find another vessel.”

Mordecai grunts in response.

“And besides,” Lilith continues, leaning back in her seat, “someone's gotta take care of this world when we're gone. Are we gonna leave the Crimson Raiders without their base?”

Mordecai's expression shifts a touch. Cant argue with that. “I guess not,” he says.

Thirty minutes ago, Lilith barged her way into headquarters, pointedly ignored Tannis, and shambled into the ladies' bathroom. Her feet were unsteady, and she needed to grab tables and pillars to keep herself upright. Her skin was gleaming with sweat.

When she re-emerged, ten minutes later, she'd spruced herself up.

They're sitting together, now, on the balcony overlooking the city. All the rooftops and antenna masts have almost been seared into their eyeballs by now. The Hyperion Moonbase is still looming far above.

Lilith pushes forward, planting her elbows on her knees. She peers intently at the town. “Gotta say,” she says. “If we leave in...six weeks...I think I might miss this place. If we leave in six months, I'm gonna be so sick of it, I'll be happy to leave it behind.”

Mordecai glances at her.

At the moment, Maya is the Vault Hunters' biggest source of revenue. Mordecai isn't particularly thrilled about the fact that Moxxi takes fifteen percent...not that it's any of his business, in any way, shape or form....

Maya brings in about two hundred thousand dollars a month.

The others, combined, bring in about two hundred and fifty-thousand a month.

Trouble is, Vault Hunters have a _whole_ lot of overheads.

Lilith knows that if ten Vault Hunters – herself, Mordecai, Brick, Maya, Axton, Salvador, Gaige, Zero, Krieg, Tina – are to set up base on a distant planet, they'll need to raise about four million dollars.

Lilith knows that they're not leaving in six weeks.

A bunch of beer bottles are accumulating on the table between them. Mordecai gives one of them a little shake, and the liquid sloshes within.

Mordecai gives a nervous laugh. “I gotta say,” he says, his voice rising with ill-fitting joviality, “I've been knocking the booze back like hell, lately. Heh heh! Kinda forget to watch myself, you know?”

Lilith cocks her head, and gives Mordecai her best _out with it, asshole_ look.

He doesn't do a very good job of hiding his discomfort. “Everyone's real worried, Lil,” he says. “How bad is this eridium problem? I mean, really?”

“I've got a handle on it,” she states. Now, she's giving him her best _change the topic_ look. But Mordecai's not buying it. Thirty minutes ago, he saw her shoulder her way into the bathroom.

“We don't want anything bad to happen, that's all.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the house where their _guest_ is staying. “I mean, look at Angel. See what the eridium's done to her. Goddamn it, we got Claptrap racing around, annoying everybody, and now she's trudging around with that big-ass machine, and everyone who sees her gets depressed. She's puking blood, she's getting headaches. Zed says some of her organs might not be viable. You know what it would do to Brick, if that happened to you? You know what it would do to freakin' _Tina_ , if she had to see that?”

The evening mood is being spoiled. “Oh, please, Mordecai,” Lilith says, “you're the one who clearly gives the least amounts of crap about Angel...”

“I'm serious, Lilith!” Mordecai says, rocking forward in his chair. “You gonna spend the rest of your life hooked up to an Injector, like Angel? How far's it gonna go?”

“ _I said I've got a handle on it.”_

Down below, there's an astonished gasp. _“Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy!”_

Lilith and Mordecai forget their argument, and look out onto the square below. Gaige is sprinting across the ground. She collides with a man of about forty years' age, spinning around him like a carousel seat.

“Who the hell is that?” Lilith says.

“Huh,” Mordecai says. “It's Gaige's Pops.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“You know what be cool?” Tina says. “Siren tag team. Maya and Lilith, two imposing-ass Siren maidinz wreckin' shit.”

Gaige shakes her head. “Everyone knows that Torgue Sports requires its athletes to submit to unscheduled drug testing WHENEVER,” she says, shouting to be heard above the din of the crowd. "If we walked in on Lilith right now, and demanded a urine sample? Girlfriend's pissing purple.”

It takes Gaige a moment to remember that she and Angel are sitting in the exact same booth. “Oh, Angel!” she shrieks, stretching across to put a hand on Angel's arm. “I am so, so sorry, I totally forgot you were there. I didn't mean...”

Angel gives that particular nervous-but-warm smile which has proven so useful for defusing foot-in-mouth-related situations. “It's alright,” she says.

In the arena below, two bandit clans are kicking the absolute snot out of each other. Grenades are exploding. Blades are swinging. Limbs are flying. Bullets are shooting through the air and impacting upon the massive shields that _mostly_ protect the bellowing, baying crowd.

Gaige's father is watching the whole thing with pale skin and a ghastly, disbelieving smile. _This_ is what his daughter has been up to these past few months. _This_ is how his daughter is spending the end of her adolescence. _This_ is the world to which he helped his little girl escape.

Father looks as though, at any moment, his mind is about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

 _Ugh,_ Gaige thinks to herself. _If your head is going to explode, Dad, at least wait until Badassasaurus comes out._

Gaige has a container filled with popcorn. Angel has a pot of ice-cream. Tina has fries, nachos, peanuts, chips, hot dogs, cookies and soda and yet, throughout the night, her hand will continue to reach over and plunder her friends' food.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“Sooooooooo,” Lilith saaaaaaaays, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “Has, uh, has...”

“No, Maya and I have not talked about Moxxi,” Mordecai says.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya crosses her arms. “I am a Vault Hunter,” she declares. “I am not a _model.”_

“Honey, they're offering you _four hundred thousand_ dollars just to wear some swimsuits,” Moxxi says. The _t_ _hey_ she is referring to is a galaxy-wide publishing company whose range of ECHOcasts reach something in the region of fifty billion eyeballs a day. “You will win an entire legion of new fans, fans who will tune into your next fight, pushing up your fee. It's basic business.” Moxxi flutters her eyelashes. “Four hundred thousand dollars – minus my commission, of course – would go a long way towards getting the Vault Hunters to Arius. Don't you wanna help your friends?”

“If my friends find out you're trying to guilt me into taking off my clothes, they'll burn your fricking bar down.”

Moxxi's bottom teeth show. “One of your _friends_ has been working her ass off making sure you get every dollar you deserve,” she says. “One of your _friends_ has been dealing with the scumbags and slimeballs of the fight industry so that you can focus on the _fighting!”_

Maya sags. “I'm sorry, Moxxi...”

“ _No, no, no, no, no, no!”_ Moxxi yelps. She lunges forward and seizes Maya by the arms, shaking her vigorously. “Good lord, you have a match in ten minutes! Don't be sorry, be _angry._ _AN-GREEE!”_

“Okay, okay!” Maya says, hands raised. “I'm angry. I'm angry.”

Now it's Moxxi's turn to deflate. “Sorry, sugar. Just a manager trying to do right by her girl.” Then she realizes that there's an opening for an innuendo. Quick as a flash, Moxxi switches from tired and sombre to knowing and naughty. “I suppose I should be happy that you're for my eyes only.”

This cheers Maya up. She loops an arm around Moxxi's neck, and then cannibal blood crunches against mime black.

Ten minutes later, Maya walks down the ramp. The Verucas get stomped. The crowd goes nuclear. Gaige, Angel and Tina whoop and punch the air. Gaige's father enters catatonia.

Moxxi watches proceedings from backstage. So Maya wasn't interested in the swimsuit shoot. No biggie. Moxxi respects her girl's wishes. That's four hundred thousand dollars that Maya won't be earning, but no reason to fret. That's a fifteen percent commission down the drain, but Moxxi isn't angry.

When Torgue Corporation is hers, four hundred thousand will be nothing at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  


**Chapter 4**

 

It always seems like Maya has a new language to learn.

When Maya abdicated her throne in Athena, she knew the basics. Fuck, shit, damn, dick, tits, bastard, bitch; the Order of the Impending Storm was nowhere _nearly_ as saintly and pure (and culturally airtight) as they loved to believe. Still, when Maya left all that behind, an entire _universe_ of profanity, obscenity and vulgarity opened up before her.

Assclown? Dill weed? Jack wagon? Like the monks knew what _they_ meant.

Fucktard? Bumfuck? Buttmunch? Chode muffin? Yeah, like Brother Sophis was cool enough to slip _those_ into polite conversation.

Always such fun, learning the local vernacular.

It wasn't long before Maya discovered that the world of arena fighting had its own language, also.

“What's a _'Face'?”_ she asks, one afternoon in the changing room.

“Well, that's what _you_ are, sweetie,” Moxxi tells her. “You're the hero! You're the babe that gets the crowd on their feet, chanting her name. You're the proud, upstanding warrior who fights the bad guys.”

“Huh,” Maya says, nodding. “And bad guys...”

“Oh, we call them _'Heels'_ ,” Moxxi replies. “Heels lie. Heels cheat. Heels insult the crowd, and don't even know the _meaning_ of honour. The Heel is the dastardly villain that the fans simply _love_ to hate.”

“Aw-aaww,” Maya says, frowning. “What if I want be the Heel?”

Moxxi lets loose that _oh, beauty, you have so much to learn_ giggle that Maya finds only _slightly_ annoying. “Honey, eventually you'll _have_ to! People get tired of the status quo, Maya. Things get stale! When people get bored of you as the brave, virtuous hero...then, it's time for your Turn.”

Maya raises an eyebrow. “My _'Turn'?”_

“It's when you switch from Face to Heel,” Moxxi explains. “It's all very dramatic. You'll betray your friends, turn your back on your fans, the audience will be booing and hissing and baying for your blood, they'll _hate_ you!”

“And then...”

“And then millions upon millions of loyal Torgue viewers will renew their subscriptions, in the hope that some courageous, heroic Face will come along and stomp the villain into the ground.”

“Great.”

“It's a cycle, sugar! Everyone needs a little _re-branding_ , once in a while. Gotta keep your image fresh.”

Maya has her own entrance theme, now. Moxxi commissioned Skag Phallus to record a track for when her girl makes her way down the ramp towards the arena floor. Good music doesn't come cheap, however.

“Wait, wait, we're paying a hundred thousand bucks for a _song?”_ Mordecai blurted out, when Maya decided to tell him.

“ _I_ am paying a hundred thousand dollars for the licensing rights to a music track,” was Maya's pointed reply. “Moxxi says that if you want to make...”

“ _Yeah, yeah, if you wanna make money, you gotta spend it,”_ Mordecai sneered, quick as a flash. “She gave me that line, too, Maya.”

“She's a _businesswoman_ , Mordecai.” Now Maya's teeth were clenched.

“Whatever.” Mordecai shifted in his seat, and let his gaze wander over the cityscape. “Gotta make your own mistakes.”

Maya's signature track starts playing over the Torgue Arena speakers, and ten thousand asses leave their seats at once.

“What does _'Pop'_ mean?” Maya asked Moxxi, once.

“A 'Pop' is when the crowd goes from zero to four hundred in less than a second,” Moxxi told her. “It's when the audience realizes that their hero has arrived. The louder the Pop, the bigger the star.”

Maya's theme hits, and the audience do their best to blow the roof clean off Torgue's arena. They shout and scream and clap and whoop. They hold up signs; catchphrases, slogans, memes – some have even drawn pictures of their heroine. Skag Phallus' discordant racket reverberates through the concrete, the steel, the bones of the audience. The place is darkened, strobes and searchlights and lasers and sparks gliding over the masses.

Backstage, Moxxi sighs, and wilts in her chair. How she misses that.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

A conversation once took place at Moxxi's bar, in Sanctuary.

“Hey, Brick,” Lilith said, and then Brick had to sit and wait while Lilith tried to decide how to phrase herself. “Do you think...is it just me, or has Moxxi _mellowed?”_

Amazing how quickly the Vault Hunters found themselves having to resort to gossip and tattle to chase away the awkward silences. Handsome Jack had perished not five days earlier, and the Warrior put back to slumber. Angel was in a coma, a forest of tubes and wires tumbling from her body. Consensus in Sanctuary was that she didn't have long left. She wouldn't burden them much longer.

Brick simply stared at Lilith.

In a rare moment of discreetness, Lilith took a furtive look around to make sure that the lady of which she was speaking was not within earshot. “Well, I mean...remember how she _used_ to be?” she said, leaning across the table. “She was _crazy!”_

Brick remembered.

_The Underdome._

Strange how Moxxi always seemed to attract a much more... _unpleasant_ sort of clientèle than Torgue. Torgue fans were loud and boorish, but when you got to the core of things, all they really wanted was to have _fun_. COME TO TORGUE'S ARENA IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE BEST G*DD*AMN KICK-*SS ACTION ON THE ECHOWAVES! WE'VE GOT HIGH-POWERED BALLISTIC WEAPONRY! WE'VE GOT UNCOMFORTABLY LOUD AND UNNECESSARILY ELABORATE FIREWORKS! WE'VE GOT WOOFTER STACKS THE SIZE OF SKYSCRAPERS, UPON WHICH WE WILL PLAY DERIVATIVE HEAVY METAL WHICH SETS BACK THE ADVANCEMENT OF MUSICAL CULTURE BY A HUNDRED F*CKING YEARS!

Moxxi's fans, on the other hand...

The bloodlust. The cruelty. The sadism. The baying for gore and suffering. Her name was _Mad Moxxi,_ for fuck's sake!

Remember the time Mordecai got harpooned by a Badass, and then as the crowds cheered, they hung him from the rafters, fifty, sixty feet above the ground? Moxxi's voice came as a low murmur over the speakers. _Mordecai, honey, I hope you're enjoying the view as much as I am. Snngheeeheeheeheehee!_

Remember the time Brick got disembowelled by a chainsaw, and his innards spilled across the arena floor? As consciousness slipped away, he could dimly hear Moxxi's whispering into her microphone. _Oh, Brick, baby...I always was hoping to get to know you more intimately...nyheeheehahahahah!_

Slowly, a smile broke across Brick's face. “Yeah,” he said, rumbling with laughter. “I remember.”

Lilith slapped the table. “Ugh, it's all coming back now! I _hated_ her! Remember how she used to just turn our friggin' shields off? Or how we were only allowed to make goddamned headshots? _Grrr!_ It was so... _traumatizing!”_

Mordecai was not with them that night. If he _was,_ they'd have been talking about something else.

“What _happened_ to her?” Lilith went on. “She's gotten all _laid-back._ Or something.”

“What?” Brick said, throwing up his hands. “She has hidden depths!”

“Hmmm.” Lilith idly shifted a coaster about with her fingertip. “Maybe it's her kids.”

A minute later, Lilith and Brick were talking about something else. Neither of them would have any memory of this conversation whatsoever. It would be forgotten. Forever.

Neither Lilith nor Brick realized that Maya was sitting in the booth directly behind them. Listening. Neither of them knew – even imagined – that they had just _implanted_ _something_ within Maya, placed a seed inside her which would grow and grow.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi knows what she wants.

Ultimately, that is the key to the power that she wields over Maya.

_Moxxi knows what she wants._

Sometimes, Moxxi places Maya's palms behind her head. She doesn't say anything – she just grasps Maya's wrists, and renders her entirely bare, entirely open, entirely _hers._

A look passes between them. Moxxi looks at Maya, and Maya _knows,_ Maya _comprehends,_ Maya _understands._

 _I'm going to put my hands on your waist,_ Moxxi's eyes tell her, _and I'm going to pour you over the sheets like water. I'm going to trail kisses up and down the insides of your legs, behind your knees. I'm going to run my tongue over your neck, your belly, your breasts. Anywhere I want._

Moxxi knows what she wants.

Moxxi wants a new Underdome. Moxxi wants crowds shrieking her name. Moxxi wants throngs of adoring worshippers singing along with her catchphrases. Moxxi wants gangs of death-hungry, battle-scarred warriors smashing and bludgeoning the absolute tar out of each other in her name. Moxxi wants her Siren champion to be the most feared, most famous, most successful, most well-compensated arena fighter in the galaxy.

Moxxi has cellulite on her ass, and down her legs. Moxxi has stretch marks on her belly. Moxxi has sagging breasts, and crows' feet, and grey roots, and Maya is utterly helpless because Moxxi knows what Moxxi wants.

Maya could kill Moxxi. Maya could melt her bones, snap her neck, twist her spine like a bottle cap. Maya could snuff out Moxxi's pathetic mortal life in a thousand different ways in a fraction of an instant, and Maya is completely powerless because Moxxi knows what Moxxi wants.

 

()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya is not a child. Maya is not naive, or gullible, or some sort of clueless ingénue. Pandora has little patience for the innocent and the trusting.

Still.

Maya _did_ spend almost her entire life in the confines of a monastery.

Maya hears stories about Moxxi. _Of course_ she does; backstage, when the beers and champagne are broken out after a show, the veterans _love_ talking about the old days.

Maya knows that fifteen members of the Hodunk Clan were massacred one sweltering afternoon as the sun beat down upon The Dust. Fifteen Hodunk men and women, dead in the open air, a single bullet through each head, no exceptions.

Maya knows that, for more than a decade before the first Underdome was built, Moxxi gathered her fortune by fighting in arenas across the galaxy. Little Scooter and Little Ellie grew up shuttling from venue to venue while Mommy butchered her enemies and slowly raised the finances for her dream.

“WHAT'S THE SCARIEST THING IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE, MAYA?” Mr. Torgue demanded one evening, plunging his fist into a water cooler as they sat together on a bench. “WELL, F*CKING CLOWNS, OF COURSE! **FRIDGE HORROR!!!!!** MOXXI MAY BE A RINGMASTER NOW, BUT BEFORE UNDERDOME, SHE WAS A FREAKING PSYCHO CLOWN! THAT SH*T WAS SCARY! SHE'D RUN AROUND THE ARENA WITH HER F*CKED-UP FACEPAINT AND HER MESSED-UP HARLEQUIN SUIT, AND SHE'D CUT YOUR THROAT, AND SHOOT YOUR EYEBALLS OUT, AND IT WAS G*DD*MNED AWESOME!”

Maya looks at Moxxi now.

Every week, Moxxi sends a courier to The Dust to deliver a package to Ellie. Muffins, pies, cakes, tarts – all homemade, all painstakingly prepared. When Ellie is there in person, Moxxi will make snide apologies for not passing on her metabolism. When mother and daughter are hundreds of miles apart, Moxxi will lavish Ellie with lovingly-baked deliciousness.

Not long ago, Scooter hired an assassin to kill a man in the Highlands who once had a one-night stand with his mother – this was long before Moxxi met her Siren girl, of course. Moxxi quietly went about cancelling the contract. When the man from the Highlands learned how close he had unwittingly come to death, he paid a visit to Scooter's garage, and left him with two black eyes and a swollen lip. Moxxi summoned her former paramour back to Sanctuary with the promise of a booty call. Salvador was waiting to break the guy's legs.

To survive in this galaxy, Moxxi once became a monster. Part-time, at least. She's more than a monster, now, though. She's a mother, a businesswoman, a manager, a promoter, a damn good cook.

But the monster will always be there. Such is a monster's nature.

Maya left Athenas and journeyed into the wide galaxy to learn more about her Siren heritage. Thus far, she hasn't found much; Patricia Tannis' research is another victim of the Vault Hunter's rather limited means, at the moment.

But Maya does know a few things. She knows that an ancient race called the Eridians left Vaults scattered across the stars. She knows that they imbued their power in human women, and that this power persists to this day. Maya knows that Eridium addiction fucking sucks – she's acquainted with two living monuments to that.

Maya also knows that Sirens are terrifying, and devastating, and beautiful, and forbidding.

Moxxi was a monster, once. Terrifying, and devastating, and beautiful, and forbidding.

Maya allows herself a wry smile. It makes sense.

Maya is not a fool.

But there are some lessons that life has not yet taught her.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

“TONIGHT, AT THE TORGUE ARENA: MAYA, THE MYSTERIOUS SIREN WARRIOR, VERSUS PISTON, PART MAN, PART MACHINE, ALL BADASS, HOLY CR*P I FORGOT MY BLOOD THINNER THIS MORNING THE SHOW MUST GO ON B*TCHES!!!!!”

The Eridium Injector weighs five hundred and forty-five pounds.

Incidentally, a few days ago, Angel shed a few pounds herself.

After the surgery, Gaige showed up at Zed's clinic with a custom-built prosthetic foot, ready to be attached to the end of Angel's left leg. Zed was game. The prosthesis went on.

To Angel's immense irritation, Gaige seems more distraught at the loss of the foot than, you know, its original owner.

“Want me to get you another soda?” They're in the VIP box again. Angel's robot appendage is resting on a little stool. She can walk, but her leg is rather sore at the end of the day.

Angel gives a nervous smile. “No, thank you,” she says. “When I'm empty, I can go get another.”

For a split-second, a message flashes on the massive viewscreens festooned around the arena.

**SHE'S SO FUCKING ANNOYING.**

Gaige doesn't notice anything. It reverts immediately to an advertisement for Maliwan home defence systems.

When Angel awoke from the surgery, _naturally_ Gaige took it upon herself to train her in the use of her new body part. Four hours. When she wakes up tomorrow, Angel will remember this, and spend the entire morning wallowing in morbid guilt.

A few moments pass in the box.

“Itchy?” Gaige says. There's a vaguely _cracked_ quality to her voice that she hasn't been able to get rid of all day.

Another nervous smile. Angel shakes her head. “I'm okay,” she says.

**CAN'T YOU JUST GO TORMENT YOUR DAD FOR A CHANGE?**

No one in the crowd catches it. It's a subliminal image, instantly followed by a promo for the next show.

For the sixth or seventh time so far this evening, Gaige offers her popcorn bucket. Angel smiles, reaches forward, and takes a piece.

**SCARS UNDER YOUR TIGHTS, CUTTER FREAK**

And then a trailer for some ECHO sim.

Maya's theme music plays over the arena, and the crowd goes wild. Gaige claps and tries to somehow stand without all the grub in her lap spilling to the floor. “Wooohooo! Maya girl!”

Maya saunters down the ramp, her legion of fans hollering and cheering and getting a knowing smile and the occasional approving nod for their troubles. Camera flashes explode all throughout the building.

Now for the villain. Piston's music hits, and a twisted, hulking combination of flesh and machinery begins making its way towards the arena floor. The audience unleash an absolute tidal wave of boos and abuse. _“Piston, you suck!”_ Gaige dutifully screams from high above.

Face and Heel square up in the centre of the arena floor. “NO ONE GIVES A F*CK ABOUT THE STAREDOWN! FIIIIIIGHT!”

Maya motions for a Phaselock.

Piston's back-mounted cannons vaporize Maya's hand.

Maya stares at the bloody stump a moment, eyes bulging in terrified incomprehension, and then topples backwards onto the arena floor.

Piston launches himself ten, twenty, thirty feet into the air.

Maya is lying on the floor. She's going into shock.

Piston lands, smashing his immense metal fist down upon Maya's head.

Her skull shatters apart like a watermelon beneath a sledgehammer.

“ _Oooooooooooooooh!”_ goes the crowd.

In the VIP box, Gaige and Angel sit and stare in bewildered, disbelieving horror.

“Oh shit,” Gaige says.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  
  


**Chapter 5**

 

Naturally, when Maya was killed, the New-U Station digistructed a new body for her in an instant.

So Piston killed her again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Over and over, Maya materialized in the regeneration box. Over and over, she returned to the arena floor. In time, it became apparent that a strange _tunnel vision_ had descended upon her. She didn't care that she was embarrassing herself. It never occurred to her that she might look _foolish_ , launching herself time after time at her opponent, like some overeager dog chasing dim-wittedly after its prey.

At home, at Crimson Raiders' Headquarters, Brick, Mordecai and Lilith were piled upon a decrepit, flea-bitten couch, watching the proceedings on a screen.

“Aaahh, just let it go, Maya!” Mordecai said, slapping his knee in displeasure. “Tell 'em you quit!”

“It's like us with _Wilhelm_ ,” Lilith said, shaking her head.

Brick was glaring darkly at the images, his arms folded. It was Moxxi's fault, he knew. He _knew_. For the past few months, Moxxi had been throwing tomato cans at Maya. Brick was _sure_ of it. But this guy, Piston? Tonight, Maya was the tomato can. _Brick was sure of it._

Maya kept throwing herself at Piston. She ignored the fact that the decibel level in the arena had fallen to an almost tragic level. She ignored the bouts of laughter that occasionally broke out when she charged forward for another try. She just kept hurtling towards her adversary, and Piston just kept smashing her into the dirt.

Maya tried darting quickly around the arena to avoid Piston's energy cannons. He rendered her into a fine mist of gore with a bombardment of surface-to-surface missiles. Maya tried seeking behind the massive concrete barriers that surrounded the floor. Piston set off an earthquake, and crushed her beneath them. Maya charged in head first, and tried to shatter Piston's shields with fists and Phaselocks. Piston simply laughed, because now he _knew_ that Maya had lost her head.

Maya became frustrated. The audience could see it. Lilith, Mordecai and Brick could see it. Every single last soul watching on the Echo Waves could see it. Piston killed Maya, and Maya kicked the New-U Station with a scream. Piston killed Maya, and Maya threw her weapon on the ground and kicked it into a wall. Piston killed Maya, and after she rematerialized, her eyes became wide and her face screamed, _oh, god, why does this keep happening?_

High above, Gaige and Angel watched with glum faces. A few days earlier, Angel had lost her foot.

Now she was depressed.

The match was fifteen minutes long. A few times, Maya managed to stay alive for forty, fifty seconds at a time. Quite often, Piston managed to kill her after ten.

Final Score: Piston 36, Maya 0.

“Soooo...” Lilith tapped her fingers on her knees, and then decided that the question was best asked _before_ Maya got back to HQ. “How much money did we lose tonight?”

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Twenty-five thousand dollars on New-U fees. Torgue Corporation will not be including _that_ in their sponsorship agreement.

Backstage, Maya is slumped, back hunched, on the bench in her dressing room. Her _private_ dressing room. If she keeps losing matches as badly as the washout that just took place, Maya knows, Torgue Corporation is soon going to have her changing with the others.

Maya's face paint is perfect. Her hair is perfect. The New-U Stations do _such_ a good job. Maya takes a deep breath, and releases a long, tired sigh.

Maya can hear Moxxi's heels clicking on the tiled floor. “Oh, I've got my work cut out for me, tonight, don't I?” A pair of arms circle round Maya's neck. A nose nuzzles through her hair. A mouth presses a kiss into the back of her neck. “I wonder what it's going to take to cheer _you_ up, hmmm?”

There's one thing Maya can't deny: Moxxi is _really_ good at comforting hugs.

Maya turns around, and gives Moxxi a wan smile. “Hey,” she says.

Moxxi's make-up is perfect, also. She returns the smile.

A moment passes.

“So, what comes next?” Maya says.

“Well, now we've got to make sure you're ready for your rematch...”

Maya groans, and returns her eyes to the floor. She seems to sink further towards her boots. _“A rematch?”_ she says. “Moxxi, he _obliterated_ me!”

“Kitten, it's one of the oldest stories in the book!” Moxxi sits herself down next to her fighter. “The comeback! The mighty hero rises from the ashes!”

“I am _not_ going through with that again...” Maya growls, glaring at the shadows under the lockers.

“ _Sweetie_ ,” Moxxi states, in the same tone of voice that Maya just _knows_ she employed whenever Scooter or Ellie cut out of line. Maya looks at Moxxi; her lips are prim, her eyes serious. _“This is the only way we can keep you on the same pay grade_. We just got our clocks cleaned, sugar. _Badly._ The only way I can convince Torgue to give you the contract that you deserve, is by agreeing to a rematch with Piston. Millions upon millions of people will tune in to watch the vengeful Siren seek vengeance against the heartless machine-creature that wronged her! No one is interested in a frightened little rabbit who fights opponents that she _knows_ she can beat!”

Maya lets loose another heavy sigh. Moxxi internally berates herself for being too hard on her, and wordlessly pats her on the hand.

“How much money did we earn, tonight?” Maya asks.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Moxxi replies.

Maya's voice can be heard down the hallway outside. “ _What_?”

“It's the Loser's Purse, honey!”

“ _Ugh!”_ Maya lunges from the bench, and then stalks angrily around the room.

Moxxi adjusts her pose on the bench. _Challenging_. _Provocative_. A tiny hint of... _unimpressed._ “Babe, you _have_ to beat Piston,” she says. “Give next week a skip. We'll arrange the rematch for a fortnight from now. You'll train your ass off. You'll watch Piston's matches like he's your goddamn favourite Echo star. _You can beat him, Maya._ I believe in you. I've had nothing but belief in you from Day One.”

Maya has stopped pacing. She simmers a moment, and then peers at Moxxi. “What happens if I lose again?”

Moxxi holds her gaze. “You won't.”

A fist raps on the dressing room door. “Conference in five!”

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

At the after-match press conference, Piston is charmingly magnanimous.

“Piston has torn the blindfold from the eyes of Pandora!” he snarls. “Now, Pandora, you will come to know what it means to behold _a true fighter!_ I have beaten and humiliated your Siren, the best your world has to offer. Now, Piston will crush all comers. Piston will shatter the bones of every Pandoran that challenges him. Piston will spill the blood of every Pandoran that dares step into his ring. One day, I will leave to conquer new worlds, but I will leave Pandora broken and _humblllllle.”_

“HOLY F*CK DID WE JUST HEAR THAT?” Mr. Torgue smashes a fist on the table; said fist happens to be holding a bottle of Smirkenorffs, tonight's sponsor for the event, from which Torgue takes regular enthusiastic swigs. “MAYA! PISTON HAS JUST INSINUATED THAT PANDORA IS FULL OF WIMPS AND P*SSIES, AND THAT NO ONE FROM THIS WORLD WILL EVER DEFEAT HIM! EVEN THOUGH YOU'VE ONLY LIVED HERE LESS THAN A YEAR, IN THE NAME OF **PATRIOTISM** , WILL YOU SEEK REVENGE AGAINST THIS CYBORG MONSTER?”

Maya clears her throat, and leans forward into the microphone. Flashbulbs are going off all the time, but she does a good enough job of seeming unfazed. “Umm, I'll leave the trash-talking to my manager, but I'll just say that, yes, I will be requesting a rematch.”

“G*DD*AMN THE WAR HAS NOT YET ENDED! PISTON! WILL YOU FACE THE SIREN A SECOND TIME?”

“I do not understand the strange yearning this woman has for pain and defeat,” Piston replies. “But if she is not yet satisfied, Piston will oblige.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Back to Sanctuary. Everyone has piled into Moxxi's; Vault Hunters, Crimson Raiders, Zed, Marcus, Scooter, Hammerlock. No one wants to stick a knife in Scarlett at the moment, so she's here, too. Hell, they even convinced Tannis to come within a hundred feet of the place. She's standing just outside Pierce Station. They have Claptrap ferry drinks to her.

This gathering was advertised on fliers as the Victory Celebration; it quickly transmogrified into the Cheer-Maya-Up Party. Maya will spend the entire night lurking in the remotest booth in the entire establishment, but she's happy enough.

Moxxi's bar has karaoke abilities. Moxxi and Marcus climb onto the stage and sing a duet. Maya seems to find it amusing enough.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Lilith's complexion is getting worse. There's dry scales on her forehead and down her cheeks. Boils on the side of her nose. Psoriasis has broken out all across her back. Her hair is dry and feathery; the red is fading.

Lilith gulps down bottles of water each day. Every morning and every night, she smothers herself in creams and moisturisers, but it's like there's a fire just beneath the surface of her skin, burning it all away. Few people in Sanctuary make unkind comments, of course. They live on _Pandora_.

At some point in the evening, Lilith sidles into Maya's booth.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So...” Lilith wrinkles her nose, and twitches her lips. “What's the strategy for the rematch?”

Maya gives a shy smile, and shrugs. “The strategy is to collect one more paycheck,” she says.

In Lilith's eyes, some star seems to fall. “You're _quitting?”_ she says. The music is loud. The crowd continue chattering and babbling around them.

Maya gives another shrug. “Well, it's not like I have a _choice,”_ she says. “When Piston smashes me into the ground... _again_...I won't be a lucrative attraction any more.”

Maya twists in her chair, and looks around. Across the bar, Moxxi has a cigar in her mouth. Tina is lighting it.

Maya turns back to Lilith. “When I lose my earning power, Moxxi will find some other meal ticket. Fair warning: the Vault Hunters are not going to be receiving great big cheques from Torgue Corporation for very much longer.”

A raging fire swells up in Lilith, the same righteous, indignant inferno that roars into life whenever a cute couple that she likes in some soap opera breaks up. “You don't know that!” she says. “You might win. Maya, you can beat Piston. You can kick his ass!”

Maya sourly shakes her head, and glares at the drink resting on the table before him. “You were watching the Echo,” she says. “I can't beat him. _You_ could beat him. I can't.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Tina throws up outside. She stole someone's beer. Oh well. Brick slings her over his shoulder with a chuckle, and strolls back to headquarters.

Claptrap and an extremely giggly Salvador have a rap battle. Then Zero enters and slaughters them both. With his slammin' rhymes, of course.

Gaige tries to rope her father into a drinking contest. She wants to be his opponent. He declines. Luckily, she manages to find someone who _is_ willing.

Unlike Tina, Angel vomits _inside_ the premises.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Every day, Lilith's body screams and screams for eridium.

 _Just a little longer,_ she tells herself. _Just a few more hours._

_Get the average down._

Every day, Lilith strikes a hundred bargains with herself.

Every hour that passes, Lilith makes a dozen deals with the addiction in her blood.

_Another hour, okay?_

_Another hour, and I'll have a chunk._

_I just gotta get the average down._

_I had nine chunks yesterday._

_If I can make do with seven chunks today, well...that'll be an improvement, right?_

Lilith doesn't even try to hide it. She consumes a chunk of eridium there in the booth, while Maya watches.

Maya doesn't care.

For a while, neither of them can think of anything to say. The music blares around them. People chatting. Glasses tinkling.

“Why would they do this to us?” Lilith says. Her voice is faint.

“Who?” Maya asks.

Lilith puts a finger to the tattoo on her arm. “The Eridians,” she says. “All the billions of women in the galaxy, and they make us...just us... _special._ They give us all these insane powers. They make us kick-ass. They make people piss their pants, just thinking about us.”

Lilith looks Maya in the eyes.

“And then they poison us.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

At the end of the night, Moxxi sings for Maya. She drapes herself across the table – Lilith hurriedly grabbing up glasses – and serenades her, while from behind, a sniggering, cackling Gaige rubs Maya's shoulders.

At around two hours after midnight, everyone has staggered home. Moxxi has Maya all to herself, now. Moxxi takes Maya's hand, and leads her upstairs, and then makes sure that not one single little drop of strength is left in her body.

They lie together in the dark, both wondering when the other will bother pulling the bedsheets up around them. Eventually, Maya manages to overcome a barrier in her head. She speaks, half-hoping that Moxxi has drifted off to sleep.

“What happens if I lose again?” she says.

Moxxi is still awake.

“You won't,” she murmurs. “I believe in you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  
  


**Chapter 6**

 

Gaige is wrapped around Angel's little finger. Angel has Gaige doing pole dances around her frickin' pinky.

And, when you think about it, how could things be any other way?

When Angel came to Sanctuary, Gaige at last had someone who could actually understand her when she started geeking the fuck out. When she first came to Pandora, Gaige was by far the most skilled and most knowledgeable engineer that the Vault Hunters and the Crimson Raiders had to offer – which meant that, when it came to matters technological, stimulating conversation was sometimes _hard to find._

Sanctuary's Greatest Tech-Head got lonely, sometimes.

To begin with, Scooter is a _mechanic_ , not an _engineer._ “Hell girl, I can pull 'em apart, put 'em back together blindfold, but damned if I know what goes in 'em! Heh heh.”

A beat.

“I ack-shally don't ply my trade blindfold. Cooooonsumate professional, ma'am.”

What the hell is it with Moxxi's kids all being mechanics, anyway? Some kind of weird grease monkey gene she's carrying, or something?

Axton _hates_ when Gaige talks about tech stuff

“Okay, honestly?” he told her, once. “My Sabre Turret is pretty much my lady friend – yeah, I know, it's pathetic, I lead a sad life – but hearing you talk about her, like you know her _better_ than I do? Like you know her more _intimately_ than I do? It sorta feels like...like I can't satisfy her, and you can.”

An awkward silence.

“I'd really appreciate it if you didn't do that,” Axton said.

Gaige and Angel, however?

Gaige can yammer on at a hundred miles a minute, and Angel will be on top of every goddamn syllable. Gaige can babble on and on, and drop the wrong term into conversation, just to see if Angel's paying attention, and Angel will catch it _every single time._

Gaige mastered the alphabet when she was four. She knew the entire periodic table when she was seven years old, was fixing up quantum computers when she was eleven, and started developing her own custom alloys when she was fourteen. Meanwhile, Angel's formal education ended at the age of twelve, but in the eight years that followed, she had somewhere in the region of four yottabytes' worth of engineering and technological data dumped directly into her brain.

So, Gaige and Angel have Common Interests. Gaige and Angel have Things To Talk About.

But here's something Gaige doesn't realize. See, Angel is an _infinitely_ more gifted engineer than Gaige, she knows more, she understands more, she has access to top-secret scientific research that, to Gaige's profound distress, they don't teach to high school students. Also: with her cybernetic enhancements, Angel has _exponentially_ greater information retention than Gaige's squishy grey stuff. However, here's the crucial point: Angel's remarkable, profound scientific knowledge is counterbalanced by her limitless, unrelenting _apathy._

Angel doesn't care about science. Angel doesn't care about engineering, or physics, or biology, or research, or technological advancement. Angel did not invest literally thousands of hours, during her adolescence, poring over science textbooks. Jack didn't give his daughter a new chemistry set every birthday, _without fail,_ so that she could set off explosions a safe distance from the house.

No.

All the scientific knowledge that Angel possesses was just downloaded into her brain. She didn't earn it. It's nothing she feels she can be proud of. It's nothing she cares about.

Angel doesn't want to be a scientist. Angel doesn't want to make robots, or cyborgs, or droids, and because of this...Gaige does not feel _threatened_ by Angel.

Gaige does not view Angel as a competitor. Gaige is not plagued by paranoid suspicions that Angel is going to steal her thunder. Angel is not Marcy Holloway. Angel is not going to ever steal Gaige's spotlight. Sanctuary can hold Science Fairs every single day of the goddamn year, it doesn't matter; Gaige will always, always win, because Angel will always, always go “Eh”.

If an omnipotent goddess can do anything, can she half-ass her Science Fair entry?

Angel does not want to be an engineer. Angel does not want to be Best At Science.

But what, then, does Angel actually _want?_

Well...Angel wants to be a Siren.

Angel wants to use her Siren powers.

 

()()()()()()()()()

 

Lilith has not checked in with the Vault Hunters for three days.

She's in Frostburn Canyon. When she's not here, she's in the Wastes. All she does is shamble around, stocking up on eridium so that she can go home and binge.

She takes special care to make sure no one from Sanctuary accidentally sees her, accidentally catches a glimpse of her hunting for her fix.

How long has it been since her last hit? An hour? A half hour? The fires are building up inside her, again. The flames are pouring across her skin. Lilith is surrounded by ice, and computer screens, and rocks, and stalactites, but all she has to do is close her eyes, and she will feel a thousand suns blazing down upon her.

_I am a senior member of the Vault Hunters. I eat eridium. I watch porn. I sleep. A role model am I._

The fires are building up inside of her.

Lilith's body is screaming.

_Again with the bargaining tactics. Just...just wait twenty minutes. If I can go twenty minutes, maybe I can go thirty..._

Her blood feels like sludge. Her bones feel like chalk. There's no power in her muscles at all.

_If I just take a chunk, I'll feel good as new. Just like that._

Lilith's body is screeching.

_Even if, somehow, some way, I do manage to give up eridium, I'm gonna be like this forever, aren't I? I'm hard-wired. My brain's changed. The neurons got moved around. My brain is always gonna be screaming at me for this damn stuff._

Screaming.

Lilith's body is screaming.

But...underneath it all...there's something else...

_Something else is screaming..._

With a yelp, Lilith jerks out of her chair. She stands in the centre of the cavern, gleaming with sweat. She wheels around, eyes bulging with astonishment, looking frantically about.

 _I'm not alone,_ she thinks.

_There's something in here with me._

For a few brief moments, Lilith's addiction is overpowered by a blunt-force surge of adrenaline. She swallows, and then she looks down, and raises her left arm. She runs a finger along the spirals and patterns.

She digs a nail at the blue tendrils.

_I'm not alone._

_Oh God,_ Lilith thinks.

_I've got to find Maya._

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

It doesn't take long before Angel realizes that Gaige is trying to impress her.

Almost every other day, Gaige brings Angel a new piece of machinery that she's been working on.

Gaige brings Angel a Maliwan SMG that she spent all of last night modifying. “Oh, Angel! A phaseshift, if you please!”

Angel gives a polite smile, and extends her consciousness into the weapon. Gaige takes the stance, and shatters a row of glass bottles that she arranged in a basement. Gaige's aim is wildly, and deliberately, off; Angel unerringly guides each bullet to their target nevertheless. “What do you think?” Gaige says, when they're done.

“The positronic conduits and adaptive pathways are considerably refined,” Angel replies. “The modifications you made are really elegant, Gaige.”

Gaige gives an indulgent snigger, and an _aw-shucks_ hunch of the shoulders. _Oh, Gaige,_ Angel thinks. _You puppet._

Gaige brings Angel a shield that she's been tinkering with all afternoon. “Angel!” she says. “Try this on for size!”

_Try this on for size._

Angel phaseshifts, and inserts her consciousness into the shield generator.

 _It's a snug fit,_ she thinks.

_It melts around the contours of my mind._

_It yields to my thoughts._

_It's very... **accomodating**._

_This piece of machinery is very... **comfortable.** It's **cozy** in here._

_Like it was meant for me._

_Meant for me._

_Oh God._

For years and years, trapped at the core of the Hyperion network, Angel found herself surrounded by a universe of Handsome Jack's machinery. Handsome Jack's robots. Handsome Jack's vessels. Handsome Jack's computers. Every piece of Hyperion technology was a tool, a tool created for the use of her father. No different from her.

For the first time in her life, she realizes, Angel has just been presented with a machine that was built _for her_.

_Only her._

This shield is custom designed for one person. _Designer machinery._ Built for Angel's approval. Angel's comfort. Angel's pleasure.

Angel disengages, and withdraws herself from the shield. She's dizzy. Fairly light-headed.

Gaige has an expectant look on her face. “Weeeeeell?” she says. “Watcha think?”

Angel stares at Gaige in disbelief. Then, in a nanosecond, she switches to a warm expression. “It's really good, Gaige,” she says. “The simple economy of the design! It's so graceful! You really outdid yourself, Gaige!”

Gaige's reply, and no, this is not a joke: “Nyuk nyuk!”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

There comes a point when Angel begins to feel like the heroine from some really crappy gothic novel.

You know, the monstrous but beguiling Count becomes intrigued with the alluring beauty. She's a prisoner in his dark, evil castle with the flickering candles and the lightning flashes. He gives her dresses to wear so that she looks stunningly gorgeous. Really, _really_ beautiful dresses, made of silk and velvet and lace and plunging necklines.

Only, Angel isn't being given dresses to wear. She's being given chunks of technology to phaseshift into.

And, instead of a brooding Count, there's a hyperactive Vault Hunter who is eighteen years old and yet has already amassed sixteen tooth fillings.

Gaige brings Angel guns. Gaige brings Angel droids. Gaige brings Angel computers, and tools, and entertainment devices, and...

...and Angel grants her an indulgent smile, and phaseshifts away.

Phaseshifting into a Gaige modification job can sometimes be like lowering oneself into a warm, scented bath. Ghosting into a device that Gaige has worked on can sometimes be like slipping into a ten-thousand dollar robe. Or making snow angels in a pristine field. Or diving into crystal blue ocean waters.

Angel has become Gaige's _hobby._ Gaige putters happily about, hour after hour, day after day. She'll work all day and night on a project, secure in the knowledge that there'll be a compliment at the end of it. Angel, it turns out, has an _incredible_ talent for compliments, and bah gawd, Gaige is gonna fish! It seems the only opinion that matters to Gaige, in all of Sanctuary, is Angel's.

Well, except for Moxxi, of course. Obviously.

Gaige brings Angel dresses. Gaige brings Angel shoes. Gaige brings Angel robes, and jewellery, and...

And Angel believes with every fibre of her being, that this is how things should be. Friends make each other happy, don't they?

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

There's something in it for Gaige, of course.

_Of course._

When a malfunction occurs, there is no quicker way – _no quicker way_ – to figure out what's wrong than a quick phaseshift.

One of Sanctuary's massive engines go offline. An enormous contraption, with thousands of individual working pieces. Could be any one of a thousand problems. Could take hours to figure out what's broken down, let alone fix it.

No problem, bring in Angel. Phaseshift, boom, problem found.

Angel is a really, _really_ cool diagnostic tool. It's no coincidence that, when Gaige struck up a friendship with Angel, Deathtrap suddenly started kicking serious ass on the battlefield.

Gaige fiddles and experiments with Deathtrap, and then Angel jumps into his circuits and systems, and tells Gaige how well her modifications are doing. She warns her about any unforeseen knock-on effects. She tells her how much wiggle room there is. She lets her know about any potential scope for further optimization.

Gaige and Angel disappear into Gaige's workshop, and they spend hours at a time climbing over Deathtrap. Gaige tends to him with her tools, Angel enters him with her mind.

“ _Oh. My. God,”_ Gaige says, inevitably. “We are literally having a threesome with my robot. And we're doing all the frigging work! He's just _lying_ _there!”_

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

One night, Angel wakes to find Deathtrap looming over her bed.

She lies there, and stares a moment.

“Gaige?” she squeaks into the darkness of the room.

Gaige is not there.

Angel is protected by a t-shirt and some blankets. Deathtrap is wearing enough armour to withstand a barrage of direct missile hits. Angel's eyes are wide and frightened, her skin is ghostly pale, her arms pathetically thin and reedy. Her remaining foot pokes through the blankets at the end of the bed. Five bare toes, curling in with fear.

Deathtrap's single eye is fixed directly upon her. Angel lies among the sheets, bathed in deathly red light.

Angel's prosthetic foot is on the floor. Somewhere. She's not sure exactly where. Every night, Angel pushes off her shoes with her heels – she doesn't bother undoing laces – and then pushes her foot off in turn, leaving the three scattered on the ground.

She can't run. She can't escape from a hulking war-droid by hopping away on one fucking leg.

There's a blast of white light.

Somewhere in the pitch black gloom of the room, a screen just came to life.

Angel can't move much. She just turns her head to the side, and looks at the image on the screen.

White text on a black background.

**SCARS UNDER YOUR TIGHTS, CUTTER FREAK**

_Oh God,_ Angel thinks to herself.

The words change.

**YOUR DAD WAS HAPPY TO BE RID OF YOU, WASN'T HE?**

_I phaseshifted into Deathtrap, and he saw my thoughts._

_Deathtrap's purpose...is to protect his creator._

Angel gazes up at Deathtrap. When the words come, they tumble out in a strained whisper, as though Angel is afraid that she may speak too loudly, and offend the machine.

“I don't mean it!” she rasps, imploring. “I'm a good friend! I want to be Gaige's friend, I promise! I just...I get angry! I can't help it!”

Deathtrap's massive digistruct claw is twitching angrily.

A small part of Angel marvels at how Gaige managed to make him seem so... _pitiless._

The image changes.

Grainy black-and-white footage. Gaige is sat at the edge of a bed, her tights rolled down to her ankles. In her hand, she's holding a utility knife, the type with replaceable blades. She brings the blade to the inside of her calf, and then...

...and then the image changes again.

**IT'S THE ONLY JOY YOU DESERVE, IDIOT.**

The claws bristle.

“They're just words!” Angel croaks. “I promise, I'm not a threat! I just get angry, I don't understand it! Please don't tell her!” Her voice breaks. “Please don't tell her. Please don't tell her.”

Deathtrap glares down at Angel, his eye burning. Angel just peers fearfully at him, frantically wondering what he's thinking.

The red light dims. Just a little. Deathtrap seems to turn away from her, and as Angel watches, he dematerializes and teleports away.

The screen deactivates, and goes blank. For a few moments, a faint white after-image remains.

**ONLY JOY YOU DESERVE**

Angel's bedroom is completely black. In a little while, her eyes will adapt to the dark. For now, she just lies in bed, wheezing and gulping, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  


**Chapter 7**

  


Mad Moxxi.

Promoter. Manager. Entrepreneur. Model. Bounty hunter. Mother.

Strategic genius.

Maya has been working her ass off all day. In the morning, she was in the gym, lifting weights, punching bags, running treadmills, riding the crap out of the bikes. In the afternoon, she was training in the basement, sparring for four hours with Zero. Come evening, she joined the rest of the Vault Hunters, and escorted a convoy of raw materials back to Sanctuary. Bandits attacked twice.

She's in the Badass Crater Bar, now. The sun is long gone. Maya is slumped across a seat in the VIP section, some exotic alcoholic concoction before her. Her legs are aching. Her arms feel like they weigh a hundred pounds.

Maya is spent. Maya is exhausted.

Maya is too tired to argue.

Moxxi pushes a curtain aside, and enters the lounge. Siren and Manager are the only ones present. Moxxi swaggers up to where Maya is sitting, and then wordlessly plants an object on the table before her.

Purple. Glowing. If you stuck it to the ceiling, no one would think it any different from all the other red and blue and green lights in the place.

Maya stares at the thing a few moments, and then her gaze flicks back up to Moxxi. She doesn't realize that she's begun to grind her teeth. She doesn't notice that the corner of her mouth has crooked in distaste.

“Eridium,” Maya simply says.

In her years in this galaxy, Moxxi has spent so much time hamming and overacting that it's become her normal mode of operating. “Honey,” she begins. Her lower lip is pushed forward. Her eyes are doe-like. “Last week, I was forced to stand backstage at the Torgue Arena and _watch_ as you were beaten, and disrespected, and...and honestly, I don't think I could take it a second time! Baby, it would _break my heart_ to see you forced to crawl through the mud again like that! But you have to understand, sweetie, the answer's right under your nose. It's eight days until you face Piston again. If you start taking eridium now, you'll have enough time to get used to it. Think of all the power you'll have! That pile of junk won't know what hit him!”

Maya's nostrils are flaring. Her face is scrunched up, as though her mouth was crammed full of lemon. With one gesture, Moxxi has ruined _everything._ With one little speech, Moxxi has _destroyed_ everything.

“I knew it,” Maya says, shaking her head in disgust. “You don't give a crap about me.”

Moxxi's hand goes to her chest, her eyes pop out of her head, and her mouth forms an 'O' of scandalized horror. Yep, overacting. _“What?”_ she says.

“ _I'm not an idiot, Moxxi.”_ That righteous quiver is in her voice. In normal circumstances, she'd climb out of the booth and stand before Moxxi, proud and unyielding. But she's utterly FUBAR-ed at the moment, so instead she just slouches in her seat. “The monks on Athena? They thought I was an idiot, just like you. And I _let_ them fool me, but I'll be damned if I let you do the same.”

“I'm your _manager!”_ Moxxi cries, apparently unaware that the campness is somewhat detracting from her point. “I'm your _lover!_ We're a _team_ , baby!”

“ _A team?”_ Maya snaps. “Not only are you going to kick me to the curb when Piston kicks my ass, but apparently, you're going to make sure that I'm hooked on eridium when you're gone!”

“ _Kick you to the curb?”_ Moxxi snarls back. “For the last three months, I've been treating you like a _princess!”_

Seconds pass, both women glaring at each other. Then Moxxi wilts, and gives a deep sigh, and sidles into the booth beside Maya. Maya grudgingly scoots over.

“What happens if I lose?” Maya says. Her voice is thin, now.

“Petal, you're not gonna get anywhere with a long face and a negative attitude.”

“Moxxi, _what happens if I lose?”_

Moxxi lets loose a long breath. “If you lose, sugar, first I'll get you drunker than a rakk-milker, and then I'll whisper those _sweet nothings_ into your ear, all night long. So you'll have something to look forward to, at least.”

“Are you going to desert me?” Maya says, peering intently at her. “Find someone else?”

“Well, honey, if Piston beats you, your earning power will take such a hit, it really won't make sense to carry on being an arena fighter. Financially speaking, you'd be better off just doing what it is you Vault Hunters do.” Here Moxxi reaches across the table, and places her hand over Maya's. She lowers her voice, so that Maya has to pay _special_ attention. “But if you've got it into your head that I'm gonna walk away from my Siren Beauty, well, I've got news for you. I'm not done with you, yet, Maya. Not by a long shot.”

Moxxi's bottom teeth are showing. Her eyelids are low. Her cleavage _expertly_ positioned. Maya can recognize the unspoken challenge. _Fuck me,_ Moxxi is telling her. _Now. In the VIP lounge. Drape me across this table. Lick champagne from my belly._

Maya decides to puncture the atmosphere. “So, we were talking about me getting addicted to a toxic alien substance.”

Moxxi deflates. “No, sweetie, I never said that...”

“You've seen what eridium has done to Lilith.”

“When eridium first appeared, no one knew that it was addictive, Maya. Lilith was like a kid in a candy store. She couldn't get enough of it! You'll be different, babe. You're just using the stuff to get the edge you need over Piston. You'll use just enough to awaken all that _fearsome_ power inside you.”

That fearsome power. Moxxi is trailing a fingertip down Maya's tattooed arm.

“And when Piston is defeated, and you're back on top of the leaderboards?” Moxxi continues. “You can _give up._ You'll never have to touch another little nugget of eridium again.”

“But what about the drug tests?” Maya asks.

Moxxi gives a shrill laugh. “Oooh, honey, you can be so _cute!”_ she says, placing a hand on Maya's cheek. “Torgue drug testing is a _sham_ , sugar. Always has been, always will be. Baby, every last fighter in that arena is on a little _something something_ to help their performance. And, up 'til now, you kicked all their asses completely clean. Now isn't _that_ something to be proud of!”

Moxxi throws an arm around Maya's shoulders, and makes herself comfortable.

“The way I see it, honey, there are three ways this can play out,” she says. “Number one: you take the eridium, and you go to Torgue Arena a week from now, and turn Piston into the great big pile of scrap he really is. Number two: you go without the eridium, and you show up at the arena knowing that he's gonna stomp you into the ground, knowing that he's gonna tear you apart, just like last time. And I think we both know: that's just not _you_ , star. You're a _Siren._ Sirens don't show up for their own executions. You're no one's tomato can.”

“And number three?”

“Number three?” Moxxi raises an eyebrow. “You stay away. We tell Piston that the rematch is off. We leave them standing.”

Moxxi reaches over, and takes a sip of Maya's drink. “Now, does that sound like something a Siren would do?”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“Oh my god!” Maya says. “Are you alright?”

Lilith suddenly remembers that she forgot to comb her hair, greasy mess that it is. She forgot something else, too. _Think, Lil, what is it, what did you forget?_

_Oh yeah! Deodorant!_

_Ugh. Never mind. Maya asked if you're okay._

“Umm, no?” Lilith says. “I...I don't think I am. I don't think we're okay.”

Lilith always hates it when people look at her with _concern_ in their eyes; in this instance, she realizes, she only has herself to blame. “What's wrong?” Maya says, her voice soft. “Would you like me to call Brick and Mordecai?”

Lilith is absent-mindedly scratching her tattoo. “Uh, no. Actually, I was looking for you. Siren-to-Siren talk?”

 _Of course,_ Maya's expression tells her. _Go ahead._

It's ten o'clock at night on the streets of Sanctuary. Many of the citizens are out having a good time, but Moxxi has decreed that there will be no more late nights for Maya until Piston is vanquished. Maya was on her way home, to bed, when she bumped into Lilith.

Lilith seems strangely _apologetic_. She has something horrible to tell Maya, and she knows it's going to ruin Maya's day. Her _year_ , probably.

She still has to tell her.

“Okay...so.” Lilith raises her hands, the universal symbol for _just shut up and let me talk, okay?_ “Hear me out, alright?”

Maya gives her a nod.

“So, I was sitting around in my cave complex, and...I was...waiting to see how long I could go before I...you know...”

Maya nods. “I know.”

“And I was staring, you know, at the clock, _totally_ hating on that minute hand...and... something got _impatient._ Something started to lose its temper. I had eridium stashed in a locker, and all I had to do was get up off my ass and walk across the room to get it, and I didn't, and...that made it _angry_. Something got angry.”

Maya furrows her brow. “What got angry?”

 _I know this is crazy,_ Lilith's eyes are saying. _I know this is horrible, and messed up, and that the immediate future is going to suck, but this is reality, and we have to deal with it._

“Something inside me,” Lilith says. “There's something inside me. There's something inside you, too, but the difference is...the difference is that I, like a fricking idiot, got myself an eridium habit, and so I woke it up.”

“ _Whoa, whoa.”_ Now Maya is holding up her hands in the universal _slow the fuck down_ gesture. _“Woke it up?”_

 _We're fucked,_ Lilith's eyes are telling Maya.

“We're _hosts_ , Maya,” Lilith says. “You. Me. Angel. We're hosts. Whatever it is that's inside us...it gives us our powers. Our Siren powers. It gives us these damn markings.”

“Shouldn't you perhaps speak to Tannis about this...”

Lilith is tetchy when she's sleep-deprived. “I don't need Tannis to tell me what's happening!” she snaps. “The Eridians didn't give a crap about us, Maya. We're not...we're not _special._ We're not going to inherit some cool thing. Whatever's inside us...the eridium feeds it. It needs eridium to survive. To grow. To wake up. We're _incubators_ , Maya. We're incubators.”

Maya feels one hell of a pang of pity, now. Lilith has massive bags under her bloodshot eyes. Lilith's skin is pale and sickly. Lilith has clearly not slept for a long, long time.

Hallucinations. Delusions. _What this woman needs,_ Maya realizes, _is her head on a pillow._ “Lilith, you're jumping to whole lot of conclusions, here...”

“No, Maya, _listen.”_ Lilith steps right up to Maya, face-to-face, body odour be damned. “Promise me you'll never touch that crap. Okay? The thing that's inside you? It's sleeping. You can starve the bastard to death. Suffocate it. All you have to do is never let that stuff get inside you. It feeds on eridium. You understand, right? _Please._ Promise me.”

Maya and Lilith stare at each other.

In Lilith's eyes, Maya can see...desperation. Weariness. Regret. Craving.

In Maya's eyes, Lilith can see...

...a secret.

Oh no.

Lilith immediately initiates phasewalk. The world around her changes. Colour is sucked from the universe. Sounds are stretched and distorted. Particles hang in the air.

Lilith peers into Maya. Past her skin, her flesh.

Maya's veins are filled with a glowing substance. Purple.

Her blood is saturated with glimmering, shimmering poison.

Lilith drops out of phasewalk.

“Hey!” Maya says, not a little bit displeased. “I'd appreciate it if you asked...”

 **“ _Maya, what the fuck?”_ ** Lilith's eyes are bulging out of her head.

“I know what I'm doing, Lilith,” Maya states, in the firmest voice she can muster.

“You _know what you're doing?_ You _know_ what this stuff _did to me!”_

“This isn't the same thing,” is Maya's reply. “I'm just using the eridium to get an edge over Piston. As soon as I beat him, I'll stop.”

“ _It doesn't work that way!”_ At the far end of the street, a bunch of guys are laughing and cheering. Two hot chicks catfighting. Idiots. Maya shoots them a dirty look. Lilith doesn't give a shit. “I...I...how could you do this to _Tina?_ You _know_ what this'll do to her!”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heaven's sake...”

A fire is roaring to life inside Lilith. She feels like kicking over garbage bins. “That _bitch_ put you up to it, didn't she?” she growls, darkly.

“Yeah, that 'bitch' is my _girlfriend_ , Lilith, so I'd appreciate some frickin' respect, please. Oh, and no one 'put me up' to anything. I'm twenty-seven. I can make my own decisions, thanks. I'm an adult. _I_ made the decision.”

Glimmers of flame in Lilith's eyes. She begins to stalk past Maya, in the direction of _Moxxi's_. “I'm gonna burn her damn bar down...”

“ _No, you will not!”_ Maya barks, chasing after her. She grabs Lilith's shoulder, and wheels her around. “If you have a problem, you take it up with _me!”_

“ _I just told you what my problem is!”_ Both of them are vaguely aware that, as Sanctuary's guardians, they have an image to protect. Neither of them care any more. “My _problem_ is that I have a _monster_ growing inside me, and now _you_ do too, and you've done the exact same thing I did, to wake it up!”

Workout in the morning. Training in the afternoon. Vault Hunting in the evening. A hugely important fight in less than a week. Suddenly, Maya realizes that she doesn't have time for this crap. “Whatever,” she says, with a dismissive wave. “Just...just go home, Lilith. You're imagining things.”

One of the most annoying things about being an addict, Lilith has discovered, is that people take you less and less seriously. “I am _not_ imagining things,” she says, dangerously.

Maya is already walking away. “Nothing that a good night's sleep won't fix!” she calls over her shoulder, in the most poisonously cheery voice she can summon.

“Screw you!” Lilith calls back. “Yeah, screw you, Maya!”

Lilith stomps off into the night. By tomorrow morning, the story will be all over Sanctuary.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

“I haven't had the easiest life,” Moxxi says. “No one on this planet has. We've all done things we're not so proud of. But I'm proud of _you_ , sugar. I spent decades crawling through the gutter. There's nothing shameful about it.”

Since she began taking eridium, Maya's Siren markings have a faint glow to them. Moxxi trails her fingers along the patterns – whirls and spirals, threads and vines, arm and shoulder, ribs and waist, thigh and knee.

Moxxi has the light down low. Music is playing – muffled, slightly, so as not to be obtrusive. It's peaceful.

“Thank you,” Moxxi says.

Maya stirs. “For what?”

“That jackass really did a number on you, last time,” Moxxi tells her. Her head is nestled on Maya's shoulder. “I'm just glad I won't have to see that again.”

Maya gives a faint snort. She pushes her fingers through Moxxi's hair. “What if that jackass beats me again?” she mumbles into her ear.

“He won't,” Moxxi murmurs in reply. “I believe in you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 8**

 

Lilith told Mordecai.

Mordecai told Brick.

Maya told Axton, Salvador, Gaige and Zero. Better they hear from her than someone else.

Unfortunately, no one told Angel.

See, Angel was sort of what the Vault Hunters _needed_ , right then. Angel could see the _wider_ _context_. Angel could see the _broader_ _perspective_.

Angel could see that Moxxi was being a conniving, calculating Sand Worm.

“Moxxi knew you guys would get angry at her,” Angel could have said. “That's what she wants, because she knows that Maya will come to her defence. She's trying to drive a wedge between you! If you confront Moxxi, Maya will feel alienated, like she's being forced to choose a side. The best thing you can do right now is be her _friend._ Show Maya what _real_ friends are, and eventually she'll see what Moxxi really is!”

Sadly, no one told Angel. Gaige would have told her, but...at the time, Angel was under an entire cocktail of sedatives. She was at Zed's, getting nine inches of her intestines removed.

And so it was that a mob of angry Vault Hunters trooped down one morning to _Moxxi's._

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“You got Maya hooked on eridium?” Mordecai says, low and dangerous. He hasn't even reached the bar yet; he's stalking across the floor, Brick looming and Lilith prowling behind him. There were bouncers at the doors – yeah, like some hired muscle were going to even _inconvenience_ seven Vault Hunters. “You got Maya taking that stuff, and you thought _we wouldn't have something to say about it, huh?”_

“Oh, look,” Moxxi says. “Another day, another poor soul sidles up to my bar looking to get a load off his chest. Take a seat, sugar. I'm really good at listening.”

Mordecai is a coiled spring. Brick is a wall of granite. He stands with arms crossed, glaring at her.

“It's Tannis that knows about eridium, Moxxi,” Brick says. “Maya shoulda gone to _her_. You ain't a doctor. You ain't a scientist. You're just a damn _carnie._ It wasn't your _place_ to tell Maya to do that.”

“Well, lookee at this.” Scooter is there. To the patrons' astonishment, he walks over and gets right in Brick's face. Or his chest, at least. “Come to my momma's bar to talk trash? Cause, like, that always works out real swell for fellas, is all I'm sayin'...”

Brick has about a foot and a half on Scooter. Brick is about two hundred pounds heavier than Scooter. Brick could push Scooter's eyeballs into his brain, then squeeze his skull so that they shot out again like projectiles.

On the other hand...Scooter can deactivate every Catch-A-Ride on Pandora.

The Vault Hunters would have to walk all around an entire planet.

Come to think of it, Brick and Scooter are pretty evenly matched...

But Mordecai only has eyes for Moxxi. Mordecai is mad at Moxxi. He's been mad for years, and now he has his excuse to vent.

“You didn't think there'd be consequences, ah?” he says. “As a Senior Officer in the Crimson Guard, I am hereby withdrawing your license to operate in Sanctuary. This is serving you notice: vacate these premises, we want you gone in the next three days.”

Moxxi gives a high-pitched laugh, and Axton and Salvador share a look. Yeah, they both knew how _that_ one would go down.

“Oh, Mordecai,” Moxxi says, wiping imaginary tears of mirth from her cheeks, “you are so adorable, _cutie widdle bigshot Mordi!_ Uh huh, I'm sure the Crimson Raiders will be _thrilled_ when they find out that they're all suddenly going to be sober for the next few months. Hate to break it to you, sweetie, but _I'm_ the one who maintains morale in this city. _Me_. _Mad_ _Moxxi._ I'm the babe who keeps your troops from going crazy. I'm the vixen who makes sure that your men don't suddenly decide to raid the arm lockers and go on rampages through the streets. I'm the knockout who gives the men and women of the Crimson Raiders something to look forward to when their shift is over. Sanctuary _needs_ me. Sanctuary can't get enough of me.”

“Yeah, well, _I've_ had enough of you,” Lilith growls. “Get packing. Now.”

“Oh, Lilith,” Moxxi says. Now her lower lip is quivering in a mockery of hurt. “It must just _burn you up,_ knowing that Maya will soon be just as powerful as you.”

“Ha!” Lilith says, a smile on her face and murder in her eyes. “When Maya decides it's time to burn down every single bar you own, Moxxi? I'm gonna be right there with her.”

“Is that so?”

Maya has appeared behind the bar. She's been upstairs the entire time, in Moxxi's rooms above. There's winter in her eyes, and her face is carved from ice.

Lilith throws up her hands. “Just looking out for one of our own, killer.”

“By threatening my girlfriend in her own bar?” Maya says, with brittle civility.

Axton steps forward. “You know, for the first time since coming to this dump of a world, I'm beginning to see things from my ex-wife's perspective.” Axton points at Moxxi, whilst making sure that Maya is looking at him. “See that? Not worth it, Maya. Doesn't deserve you. Can. Do. Better.”

“Girl, you are _slumming.”_ Gaige's arms are folded across her chest, and she's looking at Moxxi with a distinctly _unimpressed_ expression.

Moxxi stares daggers at Gaige. Gaige smirks at her...and then...

 _Wait,_ Gaige thinks. _Moxxi owns all the best bars and clubs on Pandora. Did I just fricking torpedo my social life?_

Gaige goes pale, and Moxxi allows herself the tiniest triumphant smile. No one else notices.

“Moxxi did not make me take eridium,” Maya says, quietly. She's grinding her teeth. She's scraping her nails against her palms. It's hard to keep your dignity alive in a bar, at ten in the morning, when a mob has come to demand explanations for your drug-taking. “Moxxi did not make me do _anything_. I am an _adult_. It was _my_ decision. I am taking the eridium on my own initiative. Oh, and, by the way? It's not as though you're _indebted_ to me or anything, but, I am doing this for _us_ , right? We're all clear on this, aren't we? I'm doing this for _you._ For the good of the Vault Hunters. So, a little less condescension and a _teensy_ bit more gratitude would be _really_ appreciated, thanks.”

“Yeah, well...” Mordecai takes a deep breath, and releases a heavy sigh. He has something painful to say, and he decides it's probably best just to spit. “Sorry to pile this on you, Maya...but...before we came here, me and the other Vault Hunters had a little huddle...”

Maya and Moxxi weren't expecting that.

Moxxi's brow creases in surprise, _no, no, they wouldn't be_ _ **that**_ _stupid..._

Maya has gone ashen. The first hints of rage and indignation are beginning to spark to life in her eyes.

“...and, uh, we decided...right?” Mordecai gives a quick look behind him, and the Vault Hunters nod and murmur their agreement. “...the Vault Hunters decided that we weren't gonna be standing for this.” Mordecai is looking at a slot machine, and then a bottle of champagne, and then the tip jar, and then he thinks _fuck it,_ and he looks directly at Maya.

“Maya, from now on, the Vault Hunters are not gonna be accepting any more money that you earn from arena fighting.”

“ _ **What?”**_ Maya says.

Salvador rubs his ears. “Ouch.” He's surprised that the rows of bottles behind Maya didn't shatter into little pieces.

“You wanna come with us, kick the crap outta some bandits, hunt some big, badass mutant freak,” Brick says, “we'll always find a place for you, Maya. But we ain't havin' nothing to do with this arena shit no more.”

Now Moxxi is hooting with laughter. “You know what? It's probably time that I did get out of Sanctuary. With these geniuses in charge, this entire city's gonna be bankrupt in a month...”

“I'm trying to get us off Pandora!” Maya barks. Her voice cracks in a rather unfortunate fashion. “I'm trying to get us to Arius! I'm doing this for _you!”_

“Not any more,” Lilith says. A mask has been pulled on. Now, Lilith is just as she was when she first came to Pandora. Cold. Uncaring. She motions towards Moxxi. “We're not taking one more cent from her.”

“Ohhh, you won't take my money?” Moxxi says, with the most belligerently exaggerated pout the Vault Hunters had ever seen. “Well, I suppose if...”

“ _ **I AM NOT AN ADDICT!”**_

Every conversation comes to a halt. Every glass stops clinking. Silence reigns in the bar, every eye in the establishment on Maya.

Maya looks at Lilith. _You_ _are an addict,_ she thinks. _You need eridium every moment of every day. You can't live without it._

She looks at Mordecai. _And you are an alcoholic. You spend months isolated in that lookout tower, drinking and shooting varkids, and you don't give a damn about your friends, but when it comes time to stage Maya's Intervention, suddenly you're Mister Senior Officer of the Crimson Guard._

She looks at Brick. _And you. You are a thug, and a warlord, and a bloodthirsty sadist._

At Axton. _And you are a drunk, and a lech, and a failed husband._

At Salvador. _And you are a butcher, and a simpleton._

At Zero. _And you are a killer, and nothing more, meant for nothing else._

At Gaige. _And you are a sad, confused, lonely, lost girl._

_And yet for some reason, you all look down on me?_

All her life, Maya thought the world was perfect. The Order of the Impending Storm surrounded her with walls of marble. Doors of oak. Statues of gold. They dressed her in silk and jewels. They fed her feasts in luxurious dining halls. Each night, she slept on sheets of the richest cotton.

Maya's world _was_ perfect. She just never realized that an entire universe existed beyond it.

On space stations, Maya saw box cities, thousands of beggars and vagabonds living in cardboard houses on cardboard streets in cardboard towns.

On space transports, Maya met mercenaries, and adventurers, and merchants, and fortune seekers, and con artists, and fugitives, and eccentrics.

On Pandora, Maya discovered bandits, and criminals, and murderers, and psychopaths, and cannibals, and pirates, and cutthroats, and occasionally people who somehow managed to eke out something resembling a normal existence.

The journey from Athena to Pandora was much like plunging from the top of a very tall tower to the ground far, far below.

For much of her life, Maya was a goddess, a queen, a divine being.

Then Maya began crossing the stars, and she became a wanderer, a vagabond, a drifter, a vagrant.

Maya arrived on Pandora. Then she was a gun-for-hire, a soldier of fortune. A Vault Hunter.

Now, Maya is a gladiator. Now, Maya earns her keep by entertaining millions upon millions of screaming, blood-hungry, death-obsessed fans. Now, Maya earns her paycheck by dismembering other combatants.

Now, Maya is a drug abuser. Now, Maya illegally ingests an alien substance so that it gives her the edge in battle.

Now, Maya allows her body to be ravaged for the love of a woman who she vaguely suspects will leave her the moment things turn sour.

How far she has fallen.

Truly, Maya has reached the bottom. Truly, Maya has hit the ground.

And yet, now, Maya has discovered that the people living on the ground apparently do not _accept_ her.

Maya thinks to herself: _I poison myself with this horrible stuff. I slaughter living beings on Echocasts. I debase myself for the affections of a woman I don't entirely trust. And you don't think I'm good enough for you?_

Maya stares at the Vault Hunters. She looks from one to the next. They can see that some conflict is burning in her head. They can see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

From behind, a hand comes to rest on Maya's shoulder.

“Sssshhh, sweetie,” Moxxi says, close to her ear. “Not worth the trouble.”

Maya glares at the Vault Hunters, a grimace breaking across her face. “Just get out,” she says.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Naturally, Maya defeats Piston.

She obliterates him. She humiliates him. She fills him with bullet holes, and mangles his cybernetic limbs, and tosses him around the arena, and all the while her Siren markings are burning wildly.

“PISTON IS REAPING WHAT HE F*CKING SOWED TONIGHT, FOLKS! MAYA'S RAGE AT HER DEFEAT, TWO WEEKS AGO, IS **FEEDING** HER, DRIVING HER TO EVER MORE BARBARIC ACTS OF VIOLENCE! IT'S G*DD*MN AWESOME!”

Yes, Maya's rage pushes her to defeat Piston. Nothing at all to do with unnatural substances.

None of the Vault Hunters are watching. Lilith, Brick and Mordecai sit on the headquarters balcony, knocking back beer. Axton and Salvador check out the new bar that's opened up in Oasis. Gaige and Angel somehow manage to play an Echo Sim for four hours.

Maya gets the winner's purse. “One hundred and fifty big ones!” Moxxi proclaims. “Minus my fifteen percent, of course. Oh, honey, now that you no longer have an entire military operation to fund, you're going to have to learn how to spend your money on _yourself.”_

Moxxi makes Maya wait, sitting at the edge of the bed, while she climbs into a ridiculously expensive set of lace lingerie in the next room. Later that night, Maya will be sinking into sleep, Moxxi's arms and legs wrapped around her, and Moxxi will brush her mouth against her ear, and whisper:

“You're gonna be the biggest arena fighter in the galaxy. Piston was just a roadblock. We're not gonna stop. You're going to destroy every poor idiot that gets in your way.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  


**Chapter 9**

 

“Okay!” Gaige says, clasping hands together. “Inventory check!”

Jakobs assault rifle? Check.

Maliwan sub-machine gun with slag-infused shells? Check.

Hyperion singularity grenades? Check.

Maliwan Nova shield? Check.

Deathtrap? Check.

Twelve-pack of soda? Check.

“Why do you need so much soda?” Angel asks.

“ _Duh!”_ Gaige replies, tongue lolling out of her mouth. “Because alcohol would impair my aim!”

“ _Aah-duuhhh!”_ Angel rejoins, eyes bulging out of her skull. “You never bother aiming anyway.”

“ _Aaaah-duuuhhhh-uuuuhh!”_ Gaige retorts, flapping her hands. “I use explosive ammunition, I don't have to!”

“ _Aaaah-duh-duh-duuuuuuhhh!”_ Angel ripostes, drool dripping onto her vest. “Well, some Vault Hunters prefer to demonstrate actual skill.”

Far beneath Sanctuary, there are miles and miles of mines and caverns. There are vast lakes of bubbling, corrosive acid, and forests of strange glowing crystal things. Most importantly of all, however: the caverns underneath Sanctuary are also home to _ecosystems._

Every now and then, insect freaks crawl their way up from underground to Sanctuary's docking berth. They eat the maintenance crews. They chew through wires, and vomit acid over circuit boards, and leave massive charred holes through pipes. From time to time, the water stops running, or the central heating cuts out, or the shields go down, and then everyone in Sanctuary knows at once that _something_ has been screwing with the tech again.

Gaige is really sick of these bugs fucking with her machines. So now she's going down to squish them.

First, Gaige has to descend through the docking berth. She saunters her way through a familiar maze of elevators and staircases and valves and dials and hissing steam and clanking metal. Deathtrap is hovering closely behind – predictably, he's paying much closer attention to the surroundings than she is. Angel is with them _in spirit_ – she's phase-shifted into Gaige's assault rifle. The ammunition that they'll be using today is a _top secret_ _prototype_ , developed by Angel & Gaige Industries.

The berth is full of bums and vagrants – everywhere Deathtrap looks, every corner he peers into, he registers piles of blankets and boxes, flames burning in barrels, vagabonds with patchwork costumes and bottles in their hands. They're mostly harmless. Harmless and _loud_ , sometimes.

“Poor people,” Angel says.

Gaige can just about bring herself to grunt in response.

No, the Vault Hunters are not happy about the fact that a mole city has managed to build up under their own fricking base. Hundreds of feet above, the senior Vault Hunters are at their usual station: slumped on the balcony, overlooking a landscape of sagging rooftops. “The Crimson Raiders were supposed to protect the people, but the people keep finding ways to get in trouble,” Mordecai says. “I dunno. It's like, Roland wanted this organization to stand up for the people of Pandora, but most of the time, they don't even wanna stand up for themselves.”

Lilith is leaning back in her chair, slowly rolling an ice-cold can of beer across her cheeks, her forehead, her neck. “We can't even hold it together ourselves,” she says. “If people wanna live in dumpsters and sleep next to boilers to stay warm...not much we can do for 'em.”

Maya and Moxxi left Sanctuary two weeks ago.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige is rather fond of _fizzy drinks._

Two weeks after Gaige first arrived in Sanctuary, the number of soda vending machines in the city increased by fifteen percent. Gaige likes her carbonated beverages. It is the single most revolting thing about her.

Gaige wakes up in the morning, and washes down her cereal with a nice can of pop. Gaige heads down to engineering to carry out some repairs, and cracks open a can to get started. Gaige disappears into her workshop to tinker with Deathtrap, and one can hear the telltale _tisshh_ of an aluminium tab being pulled open.

Gaige sets off to fight bandits and hunt for loot – wouldn't be the same without a sugar rush! Gaige kicks off her shoes and sinks into a beanbag for an echo sim marathon – two, three, four empty cans will accumulate at her feet. Gaige sits down for her burger and fries – gotta have something to drink it down!

“Ah, it's just some 'delayed-adulthood' thing,” Axton would say. “Kid's been kicked off her damn planet! She's lost her mom and dad, has to grow up real damn quick. Shouldn't be a surprise, you, know...tryin' ta cling on to her childhood, and what not. Sorta like suckin' your thumb when you're thirty! Now, we can help her with this. With our guidance and encouragement, Gaige can leave her childhood behind, and enter into the world of adults.”

Axton and Salvador tried to introduce Gaige to alcohol.

With somewhat limited success.

Gaige liked beer. Wine, not so much. Cider was okay. Gin was horrible.

Sales of soda in Sanctuary remained unaffected.

Every time Gaige is killed, the New-U system removes every trace of waste and grease from her blood. Every time Gaige is blown to pieces by bandit fire, the New-U system purges every hint of toxins from her flesh. Every time Gaige is eaten by Bullymongs or trampled by Rakk Hives, the New-U resurrects her in an instant...and also takes the time to remove all unsightly boils and acne from her skin.

Face it: Gaige's diet is utterly disgusting. A reservoir’s worth of soda every day, supplemented by whatever candy bars, potato chips, cheeseburgers and ice cream sandwiches took her fancy. If it weren't for the New-U system, Gaige's intestines would be a more horrifying place than those of the Wurmwater Leviathan. If it weren't for the New-U system, Gaige's innards would be squelching and churning with goop more noxious and vile than any corrosive substance any weapons manufacturer could produce. If it weren't for the New-U system, Gaige's teeth...

...well, Gaige's teeth were pretty bad before she came to Pandora. Girl has a _lot_ of fillings. New-U can't fix that.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

The massive doors to the Dahl mining site rumble open, and a seething mass of larval varkids begin scuttling towards Gaige, flowing in a tide towards her.

Gaige lobs a singularity grenade, and begins firing haphazardly at the miniature wormhole that forms. The varkids are sucked together into a frightful, wriggling, scurrying pile, and then blasted into little gooey bits by a barrage of explosions.

Grown varkids are swarming high above, lobbing mouthfuls of acid down at the impudent pigtailed human. Deathtrap shoots off to deal with them. Every five seconds or so, another mutilated varkid corpse lands on the ground with a splat.

Some of the larva are able to reach Gaige. She just stands there, and allows her Nova shield to burn them to a crisp. “Meh,” Angel hears her say.

Time for a soda.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

“Gaige?” Angel asks. Her voice comes through a speaker installed in Gaige's assault rifle.

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry your dad's gone.”

At any moment, Gaige could be engulfed in a torrent of acid. Without warning, a massive, lumbering monster could erupt from the ground and pulverize her beneath its enormous limbs. But Angel is hankering to talk about something, and for some reason, she's decided _now_ is the time.

Gaige's father departed Pandora a few days ago. The Vault Hunters found him a way off the planet, and his little Pandoran vacation came to an end. Axton and Salvador comforted Gaige in the days that followed. Axton and Salvador never suspected that they were briefly the subjects of a Siren's bitter, jealous hatred.

“Mmm,” Gaige says, and then she discovers that she doesn't have enough cruelty in her to leave it at that. “Yeah, well. Couldn't leave mom all alone, could he?”

Gaige had grown up on Eden-5, but the entire family had abandoned that planet, now. Gaige had fled to Pandora. Her parents had gone into hiding in Praxis Beta. Gaige was an intergalactic fugitive, wanted for the murder of her classmate. Gaige's father was wanted for charges relating to the aiding and abetting of said intergalactic fugitive. Gaige's mom, well...she never made the choice to be involved in all this chaos. Chaos sort of found her, instead. She chose to stay by her husband's side.

By her husband's side.

Angel's voice issues through, again. “Your dad's really cool, Gaige.”

Gaige can't help but smile at this. “Yeah,” she says. “He is.”

Due to the highly poisonous air, Gaige is covered in protective gear. A mask, and eye protection. A breathing apparatus. Surprisingly easy to get lost in thought, when you're sort of detached from the world.

Gaige wonders: _What's dad gonna tell mom?_

 _He has to tell her_ _**something.** _

_Is he gonna tell her that her girl's a freaking psycho who kills bandits with her big crazy robot?_

_I wonder...does mom hear about me on the echo net? I mean, they **talk** about us, don't they? We're the frickin' Vault Hunters! We opened three alien vaults! We kicked the authoritarian ass outta Hyperion, one of the most tyrannical, oppressive conglomerates in the galaxy!_

_I mean...even if mom doesn't want to know about me...she's gonna hear about me **accidentally** , isn't she?_

_I had a $820 billion bounty on my head! You can't really put 'Ignore' on your daughter when that happens, okay?_

_We're the Vault Hunters. She can't avoid us._

_She's gonna hear Hyperion's propaganda about us. About me._

_She's gonna hear those things about me._

“Gaige?”

Gaige has stopped. She's standing in the shadow of an abandoned rock crusher.

Somewhere off in the distance, a bubble begins to form on the surface of the acid lake. It grows and grows, stretching out until it's large enough to hide a Outrunner in...and then it bursts, a hundred little ripples detonating across the lake.

“Are you okay?”

Gaige nods, sadly. “Yeah,” she says. “My dad is awesome.”

Gaige resumes her journey through the caverns.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige scrambles inside a rotten, dilapidated wooden shack. Outside, four massive crystalisks are tromping and stomping.

“The crystalisks can sense the vibrations of your footsteps through the earth,” Angel helpfully informs her. “If you proceed more cautiously through the area, you'll only have to deal with one at a time!”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Gaige barks, firing through the gaps in the walls.

A massive lump of glowing crystal smashes through the roof and lodges in the ground.

Gaige stares at it a moment as it shimmers and gleams. “Oh, crud,” she says.

The lump erupts, the shack disintegrates, and Gaige is perforated by a hundred shiny, golden spikes. She makes a pretty corpse, for once.

Gaige materializes in front of the New-U Station.

$23,000 deducted.

Gaige's prosthetic hand vanishes inside her rucksack. A can of soda appears. The contents disappear down Gaige's throat. The can is tossed into a bush.

“Okay psych monster _psych monster_ _ **psych monster PSYCH MONSTER!”**_ And with that, Gaige is rushing through the caverns again.

Her footsteps are very loud.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

On the shore of a wide river of acid, Gaige finds an immense Pyre Thresher, a twisting, writhing tower of flame and scattered earth. “Oooooh crap, I think that qualifies as a Badass!” Gaige yelps.

Enormous tentacles burst from the ground, and begin swatting and slapping at the ground, seeking to reduce this bothersome human to a stain on the soil. Gaige skips and bounces across the acid, leaping from one tiny stepping stone to the next, all the while loosing shots from her assault rifle at the target.

Gaige and Angel had collaborated together on the design of this assault rifle. When the bullets enter the thresher, they divide into a swarm of tiny robotic bores. They dig and burrow through the thresher's flesh, and Angel guides them, aiming them towards the _really_ vital organs.

The Pyre Thresher can feel its insides being shredded. It can feel a swarm of tiny metallic invaders forcing their way through its flesh, pushing through tissue, cutting through muscle, slicing through cartilage. It can feel a hundred little drills working away at a hundred different bones. It bellows and roars, and there's nowhere in the entire mine that its voice doesn't reach.

The Pyre Thresher is angry. The Pyre Thresher is _furious_ , and _vengeful_ , and _half-mad_ , and so it tosses fireballs, and whips and thrashes with its tentacles, and sends tidal waves of acid at this horrible little four-limbed thing.

“ _Angel, what's taking so long?”_ Gaige screeches.

Angel can't find the thresher's heart. She has a _rough_ idea where the brain is, but...thresher brains are the size of peanuts.

Angel suddenly realizes that Hyperion has absolutely _pitiful_ knowledge of thresher anatomy. Oh, but why bother researching? Hyperion thinks it can brute-force everything with enough missiles and lasers and droids.

The bone in this creature is _really_ dense.

Oh! Well, she's punctured the stomach lining. Now, highly toxic bile is leaking through into the bloodstream. So that's something.

“Ummm...” Angel says. Where's the heart? Where's the heart? “Just a minute!”

Gaige is dead. The Pyre Thresher thwacked her with one of its tendrils. Fortunately, Gaige was unconscious when she started to dissolve in the river.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige materializes before the the New-U.

$22,000 deducted.

Another soda. Another aluminium can tossed into the bush.

“Oh, that jerk-off is _so_ _dead!”_

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

A mile above, on the surface, Angel is sitting in a darkened closet. Mr. Jones is waiting just outside. The tube for the Eridium Injector runs underneath the door, connecting at the end to Angel's chest.

Angel transmits her thoughts down into the earth. “If that Pyre Thresher decides to ascend to Sanctuary,” she says, “the damage it could cause would be immense. Gaige, we need to tell the others. We need to send a team down there, and kill it!”

Gaige's reply floats up to her, a crackly, staticky snarl.

“No one is getting _my kill!”_

Gaige lobs grenades and fires off shots and plunges behind cover. Deathtrap is storming about, slashing at the thresher's tentacles, amputating them with its claws. It just makes the monster angry, and they grow back _real quick_.

The thresher explodes from the ground. Gaige is in the middle of reloading. _“Mongnuts!”_ she laments.

The thresher's tentacles drag her into its jaws.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige materializes before the the New-U Station.

$20,000 deducted.

Gaige fumbles with the next soda, scrabbling and scratching at the tab. “Uh, Angel?” she says, her voice laden with syrupy venom. “It'd be _really_ nice if you could start, you know... _participating!”_

“Could you please aim the shells at more vital areas?” Angel says. “When you fire at its extremities, I have to guide the bores through its entire body.”

“ _Extremities?”_ Gaige cries, her pigtails spinning. “Yeah, you know what's extreme? _Burning in acid! Getting eaten by threshers!”_

Three cans in the bush.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Five seconds in, and the Pyre Thresher scores a direct hit with a stray tentacle. Gaige is sent sailing through the air. Rather pathetically, Deathtrap flies after her, frantically trying to catch her.

“Oh you gotta be kidding me...” Gaige has time to say, just before she strikes an inconvenient cliff face.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige materializes before the the New-U Station.

$19,000 deducted.

Another can of soda. Gaige is so angry that she accidentally crushes the can in her cybernetic hand, all the fizzy goodness within gushing onto the soil. “Aaaargh!”

To the bush the can goes. Gaige fishes out another, and drinks deep. Soda trickles down her chin.

“Maybe you should take a break...”

“What was that, Angel?” Gaige says, her voice bubbling with vitriol. “I should take a break from listening to your voice? Why _thank you!_ That's a great idea, isn't it, Deathtrap?”

Another can is tossed into the bush, and Gaige is jogging again through the caverns.

Technically, Angel could phaseshift into Gaige's robotic arm and punch her in the face. But she doesn't.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Without warning, Gaige is riddled with a volley of spikes.

Gaige materializes in front of the New-U Station.

$18,000 deducted.

“ _What the frick?”_ she screams aloud to the stalactites.

“A crystalisk sensed your footsteps half a mile away,” Angel informs her. “That was some pretty impressive marksmanship, actually.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

A Black Hole Thresher sucks Gaige off a ledge, and she plummets four hundred feet to the ground below.

$18,000 deducted.

Gaige rips open another can and guzzles it down as though it were the blood of her enemies. “Transubstantiation with _bubbles_ , bitches!”

The Pyre Thresher wraps one tentacle around Gaige's ankles, another around her wrist, and then literally pulls her in half.

$17,000 deducted.

Gaige opens another can, gulps it down, and fires it at the bush.

A horribly mutated varkid crawls from its spawning pod and sinks its pincers into Gaige's abdomen.

$16,000 deducted.

Gaige blows up the bush.

A crystalisk uses the last of its strength to self-destruct, vaporizing Gaige with it.

$15,000 deducted.

“Aw, c'mon,” Gaige says, her entire body wilting. “Gimme a break.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Suddenly, a cacophonous _buzz_ goes up, and Gaige is surrounded by a swarm of varkids, a horrifying mass of slavering, snapping mandibles.

She has just enough time to put a gun in her mouth.

Gaige materializes in front of the New-U Station.

$6,000 deducted.

Another soda.

“Well,” Gaige says. “Kinda glad mom and dad didn't get to see _that.”_

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Mordecai almost hits the roof. _“How the hell did you manage to spend two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in a single day?”_

“New-U is a scam!” Gaige wails.

By the time Gaige finally returned to the surface, the sun was going down over Sanctuary. She spent all day in that shitty, grotty, snot-stained cave, and now that she's back, she doesn't even have some daylight to cheer her up.

“Gaige, we don't have Maya bringing in the big bucks any more,” Lilith says. “You can't just waste money like that.”

“So, uh...” Brick is standing in the corner. “What happened with the big guy downstairs?”

Ah, yes. The Pyre Thresher. “He's still there,” Gaige mumbles.

“Aw, man,” Mordecai says, his shoulders slumping. Lilith throws up her hands in her best _of course!_ expression. Brick remains characteristically stoic.

“Alright, alright,” Mordecai says. “We'll put together a team tomorrow, flush it out. We'll do it properly. Gaige, I don't want to see any more screw ups like this, okay?”

Gaige makes a face.

“ _He means it, kid.”_

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Before he left, Gaige's father somehow strong-armed his way into a kitchen in Sanctuary and baked her a set of brownies.

Gaige is down to the last one, now. She sits forlornly at the edge of her bed, brownie in hand. From time to time, she takes a doleful bite. She doesn't particularly care that the chocolate is smudging and staining her metal fingers. She just sits, and mopes, and eats her treat. When it's gone, there'll be nothing left of him. She'll wash her father down with a can of soda.

_Stupid varkids._

_Stupid threshers._

_Stupid caves._

_Stupid machinery._

_Stupid New-U._

_Stupid capitalism._

Pressure is building inside Gaige's head.

_Stupid war profiteering._

_Stupid Vault Hunters._

_Stupid Moxxi._

_Stupid Maya._

_Stupid, stupid Maya, how could you be so **dumb**?_

Gaige is sitting in the dark, and glaring at nothing. She doesn't realize it, but her breathing has quickened. She'll breathing through her nose; angry, inelegant snorts.

_Stupid Mordecai._

_Stupid Lilith._

Something is pressing at the sides of Gaige's skull, shrieking, clamouring to get out. Her fingers are twitching. If something found its way into her cybernetic hand, she'd crush it to a pulp.

Stupid varkids.

Stupid Hyperion.

Stupid Vault Hunters.

Stupid money.

_Stupid, stupid, **STUPID FUCKING SODA.**_

_Stupid kid._

_Stupid girl._

_Stupid nerd._

_Stupid freak._

_Stupid, childish, immature..._

“Uh...hey.”

Gaige blinks, and looks about.

Her room is entirely dark.

The voice came from behind her. Her assault rifle is propped up in a corner.

“Oh, Angel.” Gaige's voice is coarse and groggy. She clears her throat. “What's up?”

“Ummmm...” Even when her voice is filtering out of a big gun, Gaige can tell when Angel hasn't thought very far ahead about something. “Do you wanna...play...some echo sims?”

Gaige blinks again. “Now?”

“Yeah?”

Gaige looks down at her hands.

There's one little piece of brownie left.

For some bizarre reason, her father's voice filters to her across several hundred light years.

“ _Anything my girl puts her mind towards, the whole universe won't get in her way.”_

Gaige doesn't quite understand the warm feeling that's suddenly washed over her. But she finishes the brownie anyway.

“Okay,” Gaige says, her mouth obstructed by chocolate deliciousness. “I'll be right over.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 10**

 

Maya is strong. Maya is tough.

Maya is fearless. Maya is possessed of indomitable will. Maya is made of _steel_ , though you know she was hammered into shape by a _master_ swordsmith.

Still.

Good living can ruin you.

Twenty-seven years, Maya lived on Athenas. Twenty-seven years of exquisite meals, prepared by expert chefs, served to her on silver platters. Twenty-seven years of luxurious cuisine, three times a day, eaten in opulent banquet halls.

And then Maya left Athenas, and ventured out into the galaxy, and was confronted by a universe of hot dogs, and potato chips, and microwave dinners, and delivery pizza, and preservatives, and artificial sweeteners, and meat that was not really meat.

When Maya came to Pandora, there was almost nothing that Pandora could throw at her that would break her spirit. _Almost._

Teeming hordes of bandits charged at this Siren newcomer, and Maya slew them all. Rakks and Bullymongs and Threshers and Sand Worms tried to devour her alive, and Maya left them rotting in the sun. Hyperion put a $720 billion dollar bounty on her head, and Maya participated in the overthrow of its leader.

 _Goddamn_ , though, the food nearly killed her.

When she became a Vault Hunter, for the first time in her life Maya was forced to stand in lines in canteens. A ladle full of potato, slopped down on her tray. Peas. Beans. Carrots. Roast pork, glooped in gravy. Gross. Disgusting.

Of course, Maya never once complained. Not once. The Crimson Raiders lived in the knowledge that, at any moment, death could come and claim them all. They could be killed, their friends and families with them. They didn't want to hear some spoiled brat from Athenas bitching about the food. And so Maya summoned up some of that indomitable will. She crammed that crap in her mouth, and swallowed.

Gaige is a big-comfort eater. Was when she first came to Pandora; still is. It was Gaige that gave Maya her first taste of soda. She didn't like what it did to her brain.

Funnily enough, it wasn't until Maya and Moxxi became an item that Maya's diet became halfway decent again. Moxxi knows that her girl has to be in tip-top shape for the arena circuit. Now, Maya has a nutritionist, and the kitchen is kept stocked with food appropriate for a professional athlete. Moxxi takes care of her champion.

Maya is strong. Maya is tough as iron. Maya has callouses on her knuckles, and blisters on her feet, and scars on her skin, and she'll never stop running, and she'll never stop punching, and she'll never stop bleeding.

All the same.

You can't undo twenty-seven years of luxury. You can't feed a woman twenty-seven years' worth of gourmet meals, and then expect all that refinement to vanish.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

A few days after leaving Sanctuary, Moxxi stops doing the voice.

Only when she's alone with Maya, of course.

When they're in public, Moxxi is Moxxi. When the eyes of the universe are upon her, Moxxi is the hip-swivelling, tiger-growling, cleavage-flaunting, entendre-wielding, taboo-busting cougar that millions know and love. When cameras and microphones are trained on her, Moxxi deploys the _come-hither_ eyes, and the _I'm-undressing-you-in-my-mind_ smirk, and the _you-wouldn't-know-what-to-do-with-me_ voice.

When Moxxi is at one of her establishments, she's the eye candy behind the bar, the heart of the party, the kabuki-masked point at which all gazes converge. She pouts and frowns at her clientele's pathetic problems. She laughs at her clientele's idiot jokes. She struts and dances, and every man and woman in the joint gets thirsty again.

“Oh, why the glum face, sugar? You know it really _ruins_ my day when such a handsome guy comes into my bar looking so blue. Pull a stool up, good-lookin'. Let's see if we can cheer you up.”

When Moxxi is at a press conference, she's Maya's spokeswoman, her cheerleader, her town crier.

“My girl Maya is the ultimate fusion of beauty and destruction. We're all thinking the same thing. She's _so beautiful_ , and _alluring,_ and _mysterious,_ and we just can't tear our eyes away. But we all know what's gonna happen if we get too close. She will _burn us up_...but at least we get to look at something pretty. Not a bad way to go out, huh?”

As long as people are watching, Moxxi is a showwoman, an impresario, the consummate professional.

When there's no one but Maya, Moxxi is a Hodunk Dame.

“Honey, them Vault Hunter jackasses ain't worth losing a single wink a sleep.” Moxxi cups Maya's face in both hands, and gazes at her. “Ain't worth one damn little wrinkle on your beautiful, pretty face. Ain't worth one little tear from them beautiful blue eyes. Alright? Forget 'em, sweetie. Five years from now, you're gonna be the biggest damn arena fighter in the entire damn galaxy, and your so-called friends? They're gonna be watching you on the echo net, wondrin' what mighta been.”

The tiniest spark of defiance glows in them beautiful blue eyes. “They'll still be my friends,” Maya says.

Moxxi sighs, her shoulders falling. “Yeah,” she says. “You tried to do them this massive big favour, they spat in your face, and still you'll forgive 'em.” Moxxi places her hand over Maya's chest. “You'll forgive 'em 'cause you've got this great big heart beating inside your ribcage. 'Cause you've got this beautiful Siren soul burning inside ya.” Moxxi shuts her eyes and shakes her head, as if not quite willing to believe just what a lucky lady she is. “I'm telling you, babe...all the crap this universe has thrown my way over the years...woulda been much easier, if I'd known you were waiting at the end for me.”

When Moxxi talks to Scooter - her son, her flesh and blood – she uses her Moxxi voice.

When Moxxi talks to Ellie – her daughter, her little girl – she uses her Moxxi voice.

When Moxxi talks to Mister Torgue, she uses her Moxxi voice.

When Moxxi talks to her ex-husband Marcus, she uses her Moxxi voice.

When Moxxi talks to the press, she uses her Moxxi voice.

When Moxxi talks to Maya, Maya believes with every molecule of her being – every _atom_ – that she's the centre of the universe.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi starts crying.

Maya can't just leave her like that. She offers Moxxi a hug, and then Moxxi is wrapping her arms around Maya's neck, and winding her legs around Maya's waist, and pulling her as close as she possibly can. Moxxi buries her face in Maya's hair, and sobs, and weeps, and sniffles.

“Why are you crying?” Maya asks, her mouth obstructed by Moxxi's shoulder. She's running a hand up and down Moxxi's back.

“Because women are funny, sometimes,” Moxxi breathes into her ear.

Maya holds Moxxi, eyes wide with amazement. Maya's synapses are burning. Her senses are crackling. This has never happened to Maya before, and Maya isn't even really sure what _this_ is. Maya's ears are straining, as though her brain is absolutely desperate to catch every single sob that escapes Moxxi's mouth. Maya's thoughts are racing, as though her mind is frantically trying to capture the memory of this moment in as vivid detail as possible.

_Moxxi's skin is hot, and soft, and moist._

_Moxxi smells like perfume and sweat._

_Moxxi tastes like wine and cigars and you._

_Moxxi sounds like years and years of anger and frustration, all let out at once._

Maya wonders why her chest feels like it's going to explode. Maya wonders why her brain is blazing with light. Part of Maya wants this moment to last forever, though the rest of her can't understand the fuck why.

When did anyone ever share a part of themselves with Maya? When did anyone ever pull a lump of flesh from their own body, and give it to her? When did anyone ever break off part of their soul, and hand it to Maya, wrapped in ribbons?

What did the monks on Athenas ever share with her? _Ha!_ The Order of the Impending Storm never shared anything with their goddess. Almost all her life, Maya was surrounded by men who lied to her and deceived her every single day, every single moment. And she _knew_ she was being lied to, _knew_ she was being deceived, and as a result, all the gifts that the Order lavished upon her were empty and worthless. Gold bored the crap out of Maya by the time she was eight. Jewels by the time she was ten. The monks showered Maya with silk and velvet and perfume and prayer, and it all meant absolutely nothing at all.

What did the Vault Hunters share with Maya? Adventures. Stories. Jokes. Secrets. Triumphs. Disappointments. The Vault Hunters showed Maya what _friendship_ was. They taught Maya about _solidarity_ , and _comradeship_ , and _loyalty._

But _love?_

Maya didn't know what it felt like to be _loved._ Maya didn't know what _intimacy_ was.

Until Moxxi.

Moxxi had been twisting and writhing underneath Maya, Maya hungrily devouring every gasp and cry she could coax out of her. Moxxi's back had arched, her toes had curled, a long moan had filled the room up to the ceiling...and then Moxxi was crying, lying open and vulnerable upon the sheets, sobbing and whimpering.

Maya gathered Moxxi up in her arms. They lay there together, Moxxi snivelling and mewling, Maya staring over her shoulder into the darkness of the bedroom. Mind well and truly blown.

Eventually, Moxxi purges whatever it is that's built up inside her from her system. The two pull apart a few inches, and gaze at one another. Moxxi's eyes are red. Maya's eyes are astonished.

“Wow,” Maya says, and Moxxi laughs.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi tells Maya stories.

Moxxi tells Maya about how difficult things were when she left the Hodunk clan. “No home, no belongings, no friends, no money. Might a actually been _exciting_ , if I hadn't a had two other mouths to feed at the time.”

Moxxi tells Maya how she had to take odd jobs in the skeeviest, sleaziest dives in the system. “If a customer's hand s'much as touches one of my girls' asses, he's getting a round through the palm, and now you know why!”

Moxxi tells Maya how she had to skip meals so that her kids could eat somewhat properly.

Moxxi tells Maya how she learned all sorts of tricks and strategies to deal with being hungry. “If the hunger's really bad, there's not much you can do 'cept put your head on the pillow and just go to sleep.”

Moxxi tells Maya stories. Maya listens, and privately burns with gratitude, that Moxxi would choose to confide in her so.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya lost her virginity when she was twenty-seven years old.

Moxxi thinks this is completely, utterly, _heart-breakingly_ tragic.

“How much sex is a person supposed to have by the time they reach twenty-seven?” Maya asks, eyebrow raised.

“When they're as gorgeous as you?” Moxxi replies. “Quadruple figures, rabbit!”

Maya gives a tiny smile, and then a _eh, whatever_ shrug, and Moxxi bubbles with indignation.

When Maya was a teenager, she should have been going out on dates with other teenagers. She should have been _having sex_ with other teenagers. She should have been falling in love with boys and girls – immature, naive, unrealistic love, but love nevertheless!

Instead, the Order of the Impending Storm squandered her youth. Maya spent her teenage years in the company of fricking _monks._

Moxxi thinks it's a tragedy.

Of course, Moxxi _loves_ the narrative that it's up to her to help Maya make up for lost time.

Moxxi has the largest, most diverse, most horrifyingly extensive collection of toys in Pandora. She _has_ to – it's sort of intrinsic to her reputation. Whenever she feels like it, Moxxi confronts Maya with some new, never-before-seen contraption. Maya sighs, and rolls her eyes, and usually goes along with it.

Moxxi prefers devices that come with remote controls. She likes to sit back, with a drink in one hand and the control in the other, Maya quivering and grunting at the touch of a button.

Moxxi has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the techniques and arts of love. Again, she sort of has to – if Mad Moxxi can't reel off the names of a hundred different positions at the drop of a hat, well, she's not really Mad Moxxi, is she? Every night, Moxxi wants to try something new. Eventually, Maya begins to feel that she's just showing off.

Moxxi has enough handcuffs, chains, restraints, ropes, ribbons and cables to reach the moon. Of course, not a single one of these items is strong enough to restrain a Siren...but Maya smiles, and indulges Moxxi all the same.

When Maya and Moxxi make love, Moxxi uses her real voice.

When Maya and Moxxi fuck, she doesn't.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi tells Maya stories.

Moxxi tells Maya of how she regularly had to let Scooter and Ellie forget that it was their birthday, because Mommy couldn't afford parties, or cake, or presents.

Maya remembers the monastery on Athenas. She remembers that enormous closet, crammed with opulent silk dresses. Maya could go an entire year, and never wear the same dress twice.

Moxxi tells Maya of how she sometimes couldn't afford babysitters. She would leave Scooter and Ellie alone in whatever dingy apartment they were staying, and she would go to fight in the arena. She would dodge bullets and parry blades and grapple with opponents, and all the while this horrible, sickening fear would be gnawing at her stomach lining – thoughts of intruders forcing their way through puny doors to get at her children.

Maya remembers the monastery on Athenas. Every day, fresh sheets on her bed. Every day, hot meals on her table. Every day, a group of maidservants washing her hair and rubbing oil on her skin.

Moxxi tells Maya of how sometimes the money would just not add up. Moxxi would wander through the crowds at arenas, and she would reach her fingers inside the fans' pockets, and make off with their hard-earned wages.

Maya remembers the monastery on Athenas. She lived in a temple filled with gold, and paintings, and sculpture, and finery.

Twenty-seven years.

Twenty-seven years, Maya spent, living as a goddess. Twenty-seven years, and never once did the spectre of hunger cross her mind; nor disease, nor poverty, nor the cold, nor the streets. Twenty-seven years.

Maya is grateful. Maya is extremely thankful that she got to live such a privileged, comfortable life for so long. Maya will forever be thankful for the fact that she received a peerless education, and the very best in training. Maya will always, _always_ appreciate the fact that she grew up immersed in wealth and opulence, wealth and opulence that she never even really deserved. Twenty-seven years.

But it's over, now.

Maya is no longer on Athenas.

Maya lives among the stars, now. Maya has ventured out into the universe.

And the universe is a cruel, unforgiving place. The universe is a place where people eke out their existences. The universe, Maya has learned, doesn't give a shit about her.

“I've done things I'm not proud of,” Moxxi tells Maya, over and over and over again. “But I did what I had to do. My Ellie and my Scooter are all grown up, and that's all that matters to me.”

All that matters.

Maya has a fight coming up. Two weeks from now. The winner's purse is just a smidgeon above $320 thousand.

Maya will do what she has to do. She won't be proud of it, but she'll do it all the same. She'll make Moxxi proud, instead.

Maya closes her eyes, and begins to consume the eridium.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  
  


**Chapter 11**

 

“ _Goddamn_ it,” Mordecai says. “When did everything become so complicated?”

Mordecai is bent over the map readout in headquarters. The surface is cluttered with schematics, and rosters, and echo recorders, and files. Brick is just outside, on the balcony, peering out across the rooftops.

Lilith is not there.

When Lilith's not around, conversations are very different. _Of course_ they are. Oh, Lilith loves to tell people, over and over, 'If you've got something to say, say it to my face'. But the fact is, when Lilith is within earshot, there's all sorts of _embarrassing_ places a conversation can blunder. When Lilith's not around, people can talk much more freely.

Mordecai pushes off the readout, and begins pacing around the command centre. “Time was, it was just me and Bloodwing,” he says. “And, man, we just did whatever we wanted! We went wherever we felt like, we took whatever jobs we felt like. Went to bars, talked to girls – ha, Bloodwing was a hell of a wingman!”

Mordecai stops pacing.

“The hell happened?” he says, his voice low. “Used to be we could just cut and run whenever it felt right. But now...if we haul ass outta here – like we used to – the Crimson Raiders will fall, and then every person on Pandora that ain't a psycho, or a serial killer, or a freakin' cannibal, is gonna be totally defenceless.”

There's nothing about this that Brick can dispute. He glares at the city a few more moments, and then lets loose a rumbling sigh.

“Yeah,” he says, turning away from Sanctuary and marching back inside. “When I started kickin' the Slabs into shape, I figured eventually someone would _step up_. Someone who could take charge when I was gone. But who's gonna take charge? _Rocko_? Goddamn moron. Naw. Without me being around to beat some sense into 'em every once in a while, eventually the Slabs are gonna be robbin' and killin', and gettin' their dumb asses blown up, just like old times.”

Mordecai closes a fist around his goatee. “What about Lilith?” he says, after a pause.

Brick's eyes flick up. _“What about_ Lilith?”

Mordecai groans, and throws up his hands, but some things need to be talked about. “Ah, come on, Brick. You know she ain't...Arius is a seven week ride on a light-speed ship! Lilith ain't spending seven weeks on a ship! I mean, before she got hooked on eridium she coulda done it, no problem, but things ain't the same, now. I'm sorry, man. She ain't coming. Not any more. But if she's staying on Pandora, she could take over the Slabs when you're gone! You know, the Slab Queen! Ain't nobody going to mess with a Siren!”

Whenever Brick looks glum, people are vaguely reminded of thunderclouds drifting across mountains. “I know what you're thinkin', Mordecai,” he says. “And yeah, I know Lilith ain't coming to Arius. I know that. But it's worse than you think. Lilith ain't takin' over the Slabs. She _can't_. She's too far gone. She needs the eridium too much. In a little while, Lilith ain't even gonna be able to take care of herself.”

Mordecai places a fist on the nearest convenient surface. Moxxi's face briefly flashes in his mind, but he pushes her into the murk of his unconsciousness. So...Lilith is getting worse and worse. Well, that freaking sucks, but...at least she won't be totally alone. She'll still have...she'll still have...Ellie, and...Hammerlock, and...Scarlett...and...

They can't just leave her alone.

“One of the Vault Hunters is gonna have to stay behind with Lil...” Mordecai says, firmly.

Brick's laughter reverberates around the command centre. “You think she's gonna stand for that?” he splutters. “Somone tries to stay on Pandora with Lil, she gon' be kickin' their ass all the way on to the transport vessel! Ha ha!”

Mordecai gives a faint cackle at this. Good point.

Lilith threatening her fellow Vault Hunters with incineration unless they go to Arius. Brick spends a few more moments enjoying the mental image, and then he tells Mordecai:

“Lilith says there's something inside her. Lilith was talkin' about how there's some _creature_ livin' inside her. A monster. Said the Eridians put it there. It gave her those markings. It gives her her Siren powers. It eats eridium, and it's growin' and growin', and some day it's gonna burst out of her, and eat her up.”

Brick plants a fist in his palm.

“I wish it were true,” he says. His eyes are gleaming with fervour. “I wish there was a monster, growin' inside Lilith. Maya and Angel, too. I wish there were monsters growin' inside all three of them, cause if there was, then I'd be able to _do something._ I'd be able to reach inside them all, and pull the monster out, and _beat it to death with my fists!_ And then the monster would be dead, and Lil and Maya and Angel wouldn't have to worry about eridium addiction no more.”

Mordecai scratches his head. “So, uh...” He raises an eyebrow. “ _Does_ Lilith have a monster growing inside her?”

Brick deflates a little. He shakes his head. “Tannis says she's seeing things. Hearing things. Says the eridium's playing tricks on her brain.”

Mordecai deflates right with him. Well, this day can't get any crappier.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Lilith wakes up at half-ten in the morning.

Her bladder is full, and she needs the bathroom. Her addiction is burning in her veins, and she needs eridium.

Lilith hasn't changed the bedsheets in three months. Her pillow is probably saturated with her own dried drool. Lilith doesn't care.

Lilith lets the clock tick. Ten-thirty-five. Ten-forty. Ten-forty-five. Ten-fifty. Ten-fifty-five.

Lilith knows the time, but she doesn't know what day it is. Come to think of it, Lilith isn't sure what _month_ it is, either.

Lilith's skull is stuffed full of cotton wool. Lilith's head is swirling with nice warm jacuzzi water.

Lilith's body is groaning and complaining. It wants eridium. It wants the bathroom.

Lilith giggles, and then the giggle develops into a full-throated guffaw that reaches around the cave. Lilith's body wants eridium and a restroom, but Lilith wants a sleep-in, and that's what she's getting!

It feels like a small triumph to her. She snorts, and smacks her lips contentedly.

Eleven-ten. Eleven-fifteen. Eleven-twenty. Eleven-thirty.

Eventually, Lilith manages to muster enough willpower to get up.

She pushes the sheets away, and sits on the edge of the bed, and it's then that Lilith realizes that her right foot is missing.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Lilith, I can't hear you! Okay, take a deep breath, alright? Just breathe.”

As midday approached, Mordecai took a call from a very distressed and very bewildered colleague.

“ _Ah! Ah! Ah!”_ Lilith is hyperventilating. She's rambling and babbling over the echo, and Mordecai can't understand what the hell she's saying. _“I, I just woke up, and...oh, my god...oh my god...oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck...”_

A shadow falls over Mordecai. Brick heard the commotion, and has come over to listen. “Lilith, I can't understand you,” Mordecai says. “Look, it's gonna be okay, alright? Whatever happens, you're gonna be okay. You just need to speak more clearly so that I know what's going on, okay? Can we do that? Now tell me what the matter is, Lil.”

Mordecai can hear Lilith gulping and swallowing and struggling to get her breath under control. _“I've lost...my foot is gone, Mordi! My freaking foot is gone!”_

Mordecai nods. “Yeah.”

Silence a moment.

Far away, in Frostburn, Lilith's eyes are wide with shock, and amazement, and fear, and...

_Yeah, he said._

_Yeah._

_As though it were the most normal thing in the world._

_As though it didn't faze him in the slightest. Not even a bit._

_I woke up with my foot missing, and Mordecai goes 'Yeah'._

_I'm going crazy,_ Lilith thinks. _This isn't really happening. I'm not here. I'm still in one piece. Mordecai did not just respond to my dismemberment with 'Yeah'._

Mordecai's voice comes back over the echo. “Lilith? You there?”

Lilith fumbles with a water bottle, and quaffs. With an unsteady finger, she re-opens the channel.

“Mordecai, _**my right foot is gone,”**_ she says. Her voice sounds really bad. Like it's taking her everything just to hold it together. Like her sanity is about to explode into a million pieces. “Halfway up to the shin. There's nothing but a stump. I just woke up, and it was gone.”

Mordecai says nothing for a while. When he speaks again, Lilith hears the voice of a man who knows that if he says just the _slightest_ thing wrong, a really bad situation could get a _whole_ lot worse.

“Lilith...you, you remember the surgery, don't you? It happened two weeks ago. No, actually, ten days ago. Don't you remember? You got an infection. Eridium poisoning, right? Remember? Zed said he needed to amputate your foot, and if he didn't, the infection would spread to your entire body. So you went into surgery, and you got rid of the foot. That was ten days ago, Lil. Don't you remember?”

Mordecai is in Santuary. Lilith is at Frostburn Canyon. Pure craziness is drifting across the echo waves, directly into Lilith's ear.

“Surgery...” Lilith breathes. A glaze is coming across her eyes.

“Yeah, that's right. Surgery. Is it coming back now? Zed wanted to put you in recovery for a few days, but you weren't havin' none of that. You took off soon as you got your strength back, ha ha! Sure you don't wanna be here right now, Lil? Come back to Sanctuary, c'mon, it's safer...”

Lilith stares at the walls. Lilith stares at the monitors. Lilith stares at the icicles, and the stalactites, and the boulders.

_Surgery._

_I was in surgery._

_I went under, and my foot was hacked off._

_I can't remember._

_I can't remember._

“The New-U,” Lilith simply says. Her speech has become empty and vacant.

“New-U can't regenerate damage done by eridium poisoning,” Mordecai informs her.

_They cut my foot off, and I can't remember._

_They cut my foot off, and I can't remember._

_They cut my foot off, and I can't remember._

“Lilith?” Mordecai, again. “Lil, do you remember the robot foot? Gaige built you a prosthetic foot. It oughta be there, somewhere. Can you see it?”

 _A prosthetic foot._ Lilith's eyes drift from one place to the next.

Crates.

Pipes.

Strongboxes.

A robotic foot, lying at the side of the bed.

_Huh. What do you know?_

Lilith reaches down, and picks the prosthesis up. She examines it distantly. Yeah. Looks like something Gaige would make.

Lilith tries it on for size. It attaches snugly to metal sockets in her stump. Hmmm. She didn't notice those before.

The appendage sends neural tendrils travelling up Lilith's body, all the way to her brain. The little robot toes wriggle.

_They cut my foot off, and I can't remember._

“Lilith?” Mordecai says. “Come on back to Sanctuary. Just for a few days. It's less risk.”

Lilith gazes down at her foot.

Suddenly, her head feels very heavy.

She wants to gorge on eridium. She wants to pee. She wants to crawl back into her dirty bed, and float back off into sleep.

Lilith reaches down, and undoes the attachment. She leaves the cybernetic foot lying on the ground, where she found it.

“Yeah,” is the last thing they hear her say. “I, uh...I think I just need some more rest, guys.”

The echo cuts out.

Back at Sanctuary, nothing is said for a few seconds, and then Brick looks at Mordecai. “She forgot that Zed sawed her damn foot off?”

Mordecai leans back in his seat. “Damn,” he says, at last. “Eridium's a hell of a drug.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gaige is sleeping sixteen hours a day.

More often than not, she can be found at headquarters, in one of the bunks. A vaguely humanoid shape under a pile of blankets. A pair of red pigtails emerging from sheets.

“ _Someone_ is failing to pull their weight!” That's Tannis' arch appraisal. “That _child_ is currently bringing in less than twenty thousand dollars a month! You know, part of running a successful operation involves knowing when to cut the chaff.”

“Tannis, you gotta problem with Gaige, you bring it to _us,”_ Mordecai says. “Don't be bothering her.”

Yet again, Angel provides Sanctuary with one of its most pitiable images: a slender girl, a reedy girl, a sad girl, a lonely girl, standing by a bunk bed in a dark room, staring mournfully at a mound of blankets.

“Gaige?” Angel says. “Is everything alright?”

“I'm fine,” Gaige says. Her voice is addled with fatigue, and Angel has to strain to hear.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Angel knows that the Vault Hunters are falling apart. You don't need to be an ultra-intelligent Siren to realize this. Any fool can see it.

Maya is gone.

Lilith is unravelling.

Gaige has a lot of growing up to do.

Mordecai and Brick are trying to scrape together a fortune from a crumbling, skeletal world.

Something needs to be done.

Action needs to be taken.

Once, Maya tried to help her friends. She sacrificed her own dignity and well-being so that her comrades could journey to Arius and continue their adventures together.

But the Vault Hunters would not allow one of their own to be exploited and manipulated. They refused Maya's help, and here they are. Still on Pandora. Still fighting bandits. Still salvaging and selling mountains of goddamn guns and scrap.

Well, now Angel knows that it is _her_ turn to make a sacrifice. Now Angel knows that it is _her_ turn to be selfless.

Angel will get the Vault Hunters to Arius. All of them. Gaige, Lilith, Tina, Mordecai, Brick. All of them.

And they will not refuse her help. Angel is sure of this. Angel is _certain_ of this. Angel _knows._ The Vault Hunters will not be too proud to accept Angel's assistance.

Unlike Maya, the Vault Hunters couldn't care less about Angel.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 12**

 

Angel leaves Sanctuary. She doesn't make eye contact with any of the Raiders. She doesn't make eye contact with any of the adult civilians. Here and there, she gives a faint smile to children playing on corners, or kicking balls around streets. Kids can keep secrets.

Angel drifts through the town, and out the main gate. Mr. Jones is pushing the Eridium Injector after her – four hundred and eleven pounds, it weighs. She won't have much more use for it, soon. Not much longer.

Outside the city, Angel taps at the Catch-A-Ride terminal...oh, wait, she forgot, Scooter disabled the network in a fit of petty, Momma's Boy pique. Doesn't matter. Angel phaseshifts inside the circuity, and the terminal's display flashes to life.

Angel digistructs a Technical. Mr. Jones hauls the massive Injector onto the Technical's flatbed, and ties it down with ropes and chains, and then they're off, trundling off into the Three Horns.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

It was Maya that taught Angel how to drive.

Actually, no, that's not quite correct. It was Maya that _forced_ Angel to teach _herself_ how to drive.

“C'mon, it's easy!” were the words she used. “Remember when I first landed at Fishguts, and you helped me hack that Catch-A-Ride? That was the first time I was ever behind a steering wheel! By the time I got to Sanctuary, I was doing corkscrews and powerslides, so c'mon. It's easy.”

Maya crowded Angel into the cockpit of an Outrunner, and for several minutes, Angel was lurching and jolting across the terrain, fumbling and groping at levers and pedals, Maya sitting serenely in the turret seat all the while. And then _something clicked,_ and Angel was thundering along the roadways, gliding around corners and flattening skags.

“Ha!” Maya said, from the turret. She couldn't see, but she _knew_ just what sort of stupid grin was on Angel's face.

Angel wonders what Maya is doing now.

Oh, she's obviously preparing for her next bout, Angel is sure of that. Working out, sparring with trainers, eating a _very_ specific diet. Maya doesn't live on Pandora any more. She left for good a month or so ago. Moxxi has her chasing the big bucks, now, and so she travels from system to system, fighting the best competitors that entire worlds have to offer.

Does Maya ever wonder what her friends are doing?

What if one of the clocks on Maya's echo is permanently set to Pandoran time? Every time she looks, Maya knows what her old comrades are up to. Oh, it's ten hundred hours in Sanctuary; Axton is up, Salvador and Gaige are likely still unconscious. Oh, it's fourteen hundred hours; Mordecai is probably on his third beer or so. Oh, it's twenty-one hundred hours; the Crimson Raiders are probably wondering which second-rate drinking establishment they should go to.

Angel would really like to know what Maya is doing right now. She'll always have something of the control freak in her.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

She could have used the Fast Travel, of course, but...then the Vault Hunters would know where she's going.

Oh, obviously the Vault Hunters won't be coming rushing after _Angel_ , but...she just feels better that they don't know where she is.

Bandits attack, now and then. Angel's shield flashes and crackles as bullets smash against it. Scumbags take potshots at her from from decrepit huts and settlements as she races past. Once, a gang of marauders blockaded an overpass with a big-ass truck. She phaseshifted into their shields, and deactivated them all. Then she loosed off a dozen rounds from a Maliwan SMG, and mentally guided them into a dozen foreheads.

When it was done, Angel bowed her head, and felt sorry for herself a few moments. _I would've made a really good Vault Hunter,_ she thought.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Through The Dust. Angel hates the sun. Always will. She smothers herself in the most impenetrable sunblock Pandorans can buy, pulls on a cheap pair of shades and one of Gaige's hats, and then tears through the sands, a dullish-brown cloud thrown up behind her. At one point, Angel is accosted by a pair of buzzards. She phaseshifts into their simplistic auto-pilot systems, and flies them into one another.

Angel despises the heat. Angel detests the sweat pooling in her armpits and the small of her back. Angel loathes the glare of the light. It's not until she enters the Highlands, and her skin cools and her temper slakes and a cold breeze blows across her neck, that it hits her.

_Oh my god._

_Dad kept me fused to those machines for ten years._

_When I came to Sanctuary, I hardly ever ventured beyond the city walls. Whenever I went out of Sanctuary, I was always, always with Gaige, or Maya, or Claptrap. Was I too scared to be on my own?_

_My friends don't know where I am._

_My friends are hundreds of miles away._

_I...I've never been so alone before._

_I...I've never been so **FREE!**_

The speed picks up, and the hills and the mountains of the Highlands begin flying past, faster and faster and faster. Mr. Jones grabs hold of the Technical, and tries his best not to fall off.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Angel finds a suitable, prominent hilltop, and then brings the Technical to a halt. Big clouds are sailing over the land, trailing massive shadows over the plains and mountains. Stalkers' cries can be heard from miles away.

Eh. Angel is not the type to spare a few moments to admire an nice view. Vistas and panoramas don't really impress her.

Mr. Jones pulls a crate from the back of the Technical. He flicks a pair of latches, and then opens the lid. Eridium. Glowing purple chunks of eridium. Lots of them.

Angel gives the command, and then Mr. Jones begins feeding the eridium into the Injector.

The function of the machine is to provide Angel with a constant, steady trickle of eridium; enough to keep her alive. But Angel needs more than to simply stay alive, now. Angel needs _power._ Angel needs _strength._

Angel phaseshifts into the Injector, and overrides the unsophisticated fail-safes that moderate the eridium flow. One quick mental command, and the substance begins gushing into Angel's system.

The neurons in Angel's brain begin catching fire.

Her pupils dilate.

A gasp escapes her mouth.

Her heart begins _beating, beating, beating, faster, faster, faster._

The air in her lungs begins to seem sweeter, crisper, clearer.

Angel's mind begins racing at a thousand miles a second.

Angel's blood begins singing, a thousand voices a drop.

For a few seconds, Angel stands and gapes with wide eyes and open mouth, staring at the hills and the boulders and the rivers and the sky.

And then she begins laughing, and cannot stop.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Without the aid of eridium, Angel's phaseshift ability has a maximum range of about three hundred metres, tops.

With eridium? Ten miles. Twenty miles. A hundred. Depends on how much you pump into her.

Angel snarls under her breath. _Darn it._ It takes her longer than she would like to regain her composure. It's been almost a year since she was last injected with a non-medically-necessary dose of this stuff. It's hard to concentrate, hard to keep your mind on the task at hand, when you're under this kind of buzz...

Almost a year since her father died...

Angel initiates phaseshift. A thousand mental tendrils flow outwards in every direction, rushing through the air, ready to do a Siren's work.

Angel is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Technical's hull. She's extending her mind across the entirety of the Highlands – a hundred miles, two hundred, three hundred.

Angel locates every New-U Station in the region.

She forces her way inside.

She bends them all to her will.

Now, all the New-U systems in this area belong to Angel.

Every time a bandit or a mercenary or a dumbass civilian gets killed, a significant portion of their money will find its way into Angel's bank account.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Of course, this is not a state of affairs that suits Hyperion.

Hyperion is always quick to respond. The moon base is, after all, hanging directly over the planet. Before long, Angel hears the tell-tale _whistle_ of very large objects shooting through the air from orbit, and the equally tell-tale _crash_ of massive lumps of metal hammering into the earth.

Loaders begin rising to their feet, their gun sights coming to rest on Angel.

“ _Unauthorized transactions detected. Freeloader identified. Moving to engage.”_

Hyperion technology. How boringly unchallenging. Angel reaches into the positronic brain of each individual Loader, and brings it under her thrall. It's not long before she has built up a small battalion around her.

Next, Hyperion tries sending humans – soft, squishy humans with their soft, squishy flesh and their easily-breakable bones. Combat Engineers. Hyperion Infiltrators. Hyperion Hawks.

“Hey, who the hell is screwing with our New-U _aaaarrrghhh!”_

Sometimes, Angel commands the troops' weapons to self-destruct, blowing their startled owners up. Sometimes, Angel commands the troops' shields to rapidly contract, crushing them inside. Most of the time, Angel simply lets her Loaders shoot them to little raggedy bits.

Eventually, Hyperion begins sending Constructors, and Angel sighs. _Finally_.

Angel seizes control of the Constructors, and begins digistructing herself the fastest, most efficient, most spacious transport vessel she can devise.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Thirty-two hours after leaving Sanctuary, Angel hasn't the strength to remain awake any longer. She crawls into a sleeping alcove, pulls a blanket over herself, activates the auto-pilot, and lays her head on the pillow.

Angel never bothered naming her new spacecraft. She hasn't the humour at the moment.

The vessel is not much of a fighter, and wouldn't last long in a skirmish against pirates or criminals. Fortunately, before she left Pandora behind, Angel commandeered four extremely scary Hyperion space fighters. If said pirates or criminals take a liking to her ship, they'll have to deal with her escort.

The cargo hold is full of eridium. Before departure, Angel raided one of Hyperion's secret stores north of the Ashes. There's enough in the hull now to last her for months – provided she can _regulate,_ of course. Provided she doesn't binge again, like in the Highlands.

Hyperion has its corporate headquarters on a world called Titan Lux. From Pandora, it's about six weeks' travel. Angel made sure to bring plenty of echo sims.

 

()()()()()()()()()()

 

“ _Angel?_ Where _the hell_ have you been?”

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

“ _W-worry?_ Uh, we all thought you'd _died!_ Everyone's been out all day, looking for you! Freakin' Lilith mobilized the entire frickin' Crimson Raiders to go pull apart the Three Horns to find you.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have done that. I'm fine.”

“Where are you? And how come the signal's so crummy?”

“Well...I'm...I'm in space.”

“Huh?”

“I'm in space. I...digistructed a space-faring vessel, and now I'm...I'm en route to a world called Titan Lux.”

Gaige stares at Angel through the screen. She just gazes at her, and gradually Angel begins to feel uncomfortable.

“Titan Lux,” Angel says, helpfully. “It's, umm, it's where I'm going...”

Gaige's pigtails have a rather _dejected_ way of hanging from their owner's head. Angel notices Gaige's nostrils beginning to subtly flare. Angel notices Gaige's eyes flicking here and there, anger burning just behind them. Angel notices Gaige's lips, pressing more and more tightly together.

Angel is wearing pyjamas. Despite the fact that there's several million miles between them, Angel is feeling somewhat _vulnerable_ at the moment.

“You're leaving?” Gaige says, at last.

“You have to trust me,” Angel says. “I can't explain it all at the moment, but you must have faith in me. There's a way to save the Vault Hunters, but to do so, I must travel to Titan Lux.”

Gaige peers at Angel. A ripple of static flows across the screen.

And then:

“The last time we trusted you, Sanctuary's shields went down,” Gaige says. She chews her own cheek for a moment. “Hey, Angel? Tell Maya I said hi.”

Gaige reaches to her side, and then the feed cuts out, and Angel is alone in her cabin, staring in surprise at a blank blue screen. Mr. Jones is floating in the corner. He has nothing to say.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Titan Lux is a very different world than Pandora. To begin with, Angel is fully expecting to be confronted by a whole fleet of police fighters the moment she enters the territory.

She's mistaken. Her vessel comes within range of the planet, and remains completely ignored.

Strange. No police interference. No communications from authorities on the surface.

Someone is expecting her.

More than four hundred intergalactic conglomerates have their headquarters on Titan Lux.

On Titan Lux, skyscrapers can rise two, three miles above the ground.

On Titan Lux, when night comes, entire continents are bathed in white light.

On Titan Lux, untold legions of directors and chairmen and accountants and lawyers do business in enormous, luxurious offices, and then dine in the most opulent restaurants.

On Titan Lux, the police are the most well-trained, well-equipped law-keeping force in the galaxy. They have a lot of rich people to protect.

On Titan Lux, Angel's father could never _quite_ convince the elite that he belonged among them.

Angel guides her ship through orbit, and then descends to the surface. No echo messages, demanding that she slow down, or stop, or identify herself. No police vessels coming to blast her out of the sky. Here and there, Angel can see rivers of moving lights; highways of flying vehicles, carrying the population about.

Angel flies to a city called Munificence. Somewhere among the immense confusion of light and concrete stands Hyperion's main headquarters. Two-and-a-half miles from street level to the top. Seven hundred and fifty floors. One-hundred-and-six thousand windows. A massive Hyperion logo on the north side.

On one of the tower's roofs, Angel finds a landing pad. She manoeuvres into position, and then, after six weeks of travel, her vessel finally comes to a rest.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

“The Prodigal Daughter returns!”

Angel groans, and rolls her eyes. She knew he'd say that. _She knew he'd say that._

There were men in very expensive suits waiting for her on the roof. Very friendly. Very sycophantic. They welcomed her, and bid her enter. Angel was led through a series of astoundingly extravagant ballrooms and conference halls and office complexes,until finally the sycophants pushed open a pair of oak doors, revealing a magnificent, and yet painstakingly-tasteful, study.

Jeffrey Blake was there, waiting for her.

He had been waiting for Angel for a very long time.

“Let me guess,” Blake says, clasping his hands behind his back, and pacing around the perimeter of the room. “Having spent six weeks cooped up in a cramped little spaceship, with nothing for company but that slow-witted droid behind you, and nothing to occupy your mind but those mind-numbing echo sims that kids these days love _ever_ so much, you're probably not in the mood for any manner of _pleasant_ _conversational fripperies_ , are you?”

Angel gives Blake a sour look. She's tired, and dishevelled, and part of her hates Blake for not allowing Hyperion to fall into ashes in her absence. “I want what is rightfully mine,” she says. “My... _my dad_ left me this company, and I want it.”

A dreadful fire leaps to life in Blake's eyes, and his thin lips twist to form an altogether _unsettling_ smile. “Yes,” he breathes. “You've come to claim your inheritance. You've come to take what's _yours_. And I will ensure that it _comes to you!”_

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Blake motions for the others to vanish. A secret button is pressed, and a bookshelf slides out of place, revealing a secret passage.

Blake leads Angel through a series of corridors and hallways. All dark. All eerily quiet. All filled with wires and cables and computers and dead, black displays.

“Various shareholders and directors are still squabbling over control of Hyperion,” Blake says, calling back over his shoulder. “Oh, I am looking forward to when they meet _you!”_

Through a doorway, and into a great cavernous space of metal and echoes.

Mr. Blake flicks a switch, and the chamber is filled with light.

Walls, covered with lifeless monitors.

Wires, hanging like vines from the ceiling.

Pipes, snaking and twisting across the floor.

And, at the centre of the chamber...a throne.

_Welcome home, Princess._

Mr. Blake stands back. He puts his hands in his pockets, and silently waits as Angel gazes at her inheritance.

A throne of steel. A massive contraption hangs over the throne, with three huge pipes projecting outwards. _Eridium Injectors._ This assembly would infuse Angel with enough eridium to extend her consciousness over the entire breadth of Hyperion. From this lonely, dark place, she could rule over an empire.

Angel's mind wanders.

She remembers climbing into a Technical with Gaige, and speeding out across the Horns.

She remembers Maya training her. Handguns, sniper rifles, meditation.

She remembers six-hour echo sim marathons.

She remembers screaming crowds at the Torgue Arena.

She remembers Moxxi, winking at her.

She remembers gobbling down ice cream and soda, and disbelieving amazement at how such things could soften painful memories.

She remembers the nightlife at Sanctuary, and how she could rarely summon the courage to _participate,_ but it was always so fascinating to just _watch._

Angel laughs silently to herself, and then Angel remembers that Mr. Blake is standing directly behind her.

“I will need eridium,” Angel says.

“You will have eridium,” Blake replies, quick as a flash.

Angel nods,and her eyes harden. As soon as she is in control of Hyperion, a billion dollars will be deposited into the Vault Hunters' joint account. A contingent of ships and engineers will arrive to offer whatever help they need.

The Vault Hunters will get to Arius. Angel will make sure of it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 13**

 

There's a gang of paparazzi gathered at the lobby doors. A few autograph hunters, as well. A hundred or so stories above them – about four hundred metres towards the skies – Maya and Moxxi can be found in one of the hotel's exclusive suites. They're not expecting to be bothered. The hotel's guards are well-trained at keeping out ordinary members of the public.

But nothing can keep a Siren away.

Lilith teleports inside the hotel, and begins looking for Maya. She doesn't need to ask at reception; all she needs is to drop into phasewalk, and she can see Maya's aura through the walls and floors.

Funnily enough, the hotel's labyrinthine layout is a much bigger challenge than the guards. Lilith spends a lot more time than she likes staring at the floor plans – maps piss her off enough when she's out Vault Hunting. She teleports about, here and there and everywhere, cursing each time she runs into a dead end. “If this goddamn hotel doesn't start making sense,” she mutters darkly, “I swear I'm gonna start burning down walls.” She thinks better of it, of course. Lilith did not come to this place to start fights.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi is on the balcony. A extremely discreet shield protects her from the high winds. She's browsing sports echos. Profiles of Maya. Pictorials. Moxxi likes what she sees.

“Sup.”

Moxxi looks up. Lilith is leaning against the balcony railing, her arms crossed.

Moxxi is not wearing any make-up. She's in a dressing gown, and her feet are pushed into a pair of velvet slippers. For a brief moment, Moxxi feels a sting of vulnerability, and then her eyes flick downwards, and she notices Lilith's robotic foot.

 _Hmmm._ It seems neither of them looks their best tonight.

“Well, well,” Moxxi says, setting the echo reader down on the table. She crosses her legs. “Seems someone was lonely this evening. Looking for company through the long night?”

“I'm here to see Maya,” Lilith says. “But I wanna be open, so I'm coming to you, first.”

“Maya has a big fight in three days,” Moxxi says. “Didn't you see her pretty face plastered all over the city?”

“Actually, I did. Nice promotional work, Moxxi.”

“Well, I don't want my fighter being disturbed.”

“When she hears what I have to say, it'll be a big morale boost. Promise.”

Moxxi coolly regards Lilith a moment, and then pushes to her feet, and approaches her across the balcony. “Oh, you're quite the _charmer_ , tonight, aren't you?” She comes to a halt directly before her, folds her arms, and cocks her head. “That's not the Lilith I remember from all those months ago. The Lilith who had a mind to burn my bar to the ground.”

Lilith seems determined to stay in a good mood. “C'mon,” she says. “If I'd a done that, Maya would've kicked my ass.”

Moxxi lets loose with a cruel laugh. “Oh, listen to this _charm offensive!_ No, wait, don't tell me. Now that Maya's been gone for several months, the Vault Hunters are starting to really feel the _pinch._ You miss my girl's earning power, and so now here you come, crawling back.”

Lilith is ready for this. _Boy_ , is she ready.

“ _Yeeeaah,”_ Lilith says, her face a picture of studied indifference. “Actually, Angel took control of Hyperion a few weeks ago. We're all sort of, like, _ridiculously_ rich, right now. Weird feeling.”

Moxxi is sceptical for a moment. There's the touch of a sneer on her upper lip.

Lilith holds her gaze, calmly, and then Moxxi realizes that she isn't bluffing.

A light dies in Moxxi's eyes. All the sugar and venom seeps from her expression. In a few moments, there's nothing left but doubt, and uncertainty, and fear.

 _Wow,_ Lilith thinks. She wasn't expecting her little disclosure to have _that_ much of an effect.

Lilith hunches up her shoulders. “Can I see Maya?” she says. “Please?”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya gasps, just as Lilith knew she would. “Oh my god,” she says. _“What happened?”_

Lilith throws up her hands. “Eridium happened,” she says. “How ya been, Maya?”

Maya is not quite ready to move on from the robotic leg yet. “Eridium?” she says. She gazes at Lilith's prosthesis a moment, and then abruptly remembers that it's rude to stare.

 _The eridium gave Lilith an infection, and her leg had to be amputated,_ Maya thinks. _My blood is filled with eridium. I take it three times a day. Every morning when I wake up, eridium is the first thought in my head._

“Yeah,” Lilith says, as Maya peers beseechingly at her. “Sucks, huh?”

Moxxi plonks herself down next to the mini-bar, and begins helping herself to the contents. Lilith and Maya talk in the bedroom. Maya takes her place on a couch, while Lilith sits in a luxury chair.

“Look,” Lilith begins. “We...we don't _judge_ you, okay? We don't judge you, Maya.”

“ _You don't judge me?”_ Maya replies, eyebrow raised and with the faintest hint of a snarl. “I seem to remember you guys decided that my money wasn't _good_ _enough_ for you.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn't the brightest strategy, was it?” Lilith sighs, and her shoulders droop. “Look, Maya...look, I don't want to fight over stupid crap any more, okay? Moxxi...Moxxi loves you. There, I said it. She's got your back. She's _freaking crazy,_ obviously, letting you get hooked on eridium, but...you're her girl, okay?”

Maya is gazing at Lilith, perfectly composed. “Nothing I don't already know.”

“We can get along with Moxxi, alright? The Vault Hunters can get along with Moxxi. Even Mordecai. We just...we want you back, killer.”

Maya seems unimpressed. “I guess you guys miss my arena money, huh?”

Lilith is equally unimpressed. “Moxxi and I had that conversation on the balcony, Maya. Angel took back Hyperion. We've gone corporate.”

Maya tries to say something – and then the full significance of what Lilith just said hits her.

“Yeah,” Lilith simply says.

“Angel took back Hyperion?” Maya says, a suggestion of hysteria in her voice.

“Uh huh.”

“All of it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Maya raises her hands, just so Lilith knows for sure that she needs to shut the fuck up a minute and let Maya put this puzzle together. “In order to control Hyperion, Angel would need to ingest _enormous_ _quantities_ _of eridium._ And you just _let_ her? You kick me out of the Vault Hunters for using that stuff, and then you have Angel do the _exact same thing, only worse,_ and you're _totally okay_ with that?”

“ _No one knew she was going to do it, Maya,”_ Lilith replies. “Angel didn't tell us. She just upped and left without telling anyone, and next thing we knew all of our accounts had frickin' millions of dollars in 'em, and there was a fleet of Hyperion ships hovering around Sanctuary asking us where we wanted to go. If we'd known what she was planning, we would've _stopped_ her. Oh, and for the record, we never kicked you out of the Vault Hunters, Maya. You could have come back whenever you wanted.”

Maya shook her head in disbelief. Yes, _of course_ Angel did not inform her friends of her massive, earth-shattering, life-altering plan. That's Angel's _thing._

_So now the Vault Hunters have all the money they will ever need. They're going to fly to Arius, and open the Vault there._

_They never needed me at all, did they?_

Maya shoots Lilith a resentful look.

 _Oh, crap,_ Lilith thinks. _Does she seriously think I came here to gloat?_

_Seems I've got a whole bunch of bridges to repair..._

“Look, look, Maya, just...” Lilith fumbles for words. She gropes and snatches at the air, as though she's trying to pull some wonderful, eloquent speech out of the ether. “Just shut up for a minute, okay? Just...let me tell you something, alright?”

Maya gives Lilith a questioning look. Then she nods, and lets Lilith speak.

Lilith takes a deep breath. She puts her hands on her knees. She crosses her arms. She rests her chin in her palm.

“Uuuuhhhmm...”

Lilith clears her throat. Lilith inflates her left cheek.

“Look.”

Lilith gazes directly at Maya, and then she steels herself, and prepares to impart the most important piece of knowledge that Maya will ever learn. Lilith is about to give Maya an _epiphany_. Lilith is about to lead Maya to a _revelation_. Lilith is about to share with Maya the most hard-won, most valuable, most precious piece of wisdom Lilith has ever earned in her life.

Lilith opens her mouth to speak.

“School kids are little shits, okay?” she says.

Maya nods, slowly.

Okay.

Lilith gives a nervous laugh. “I know that probably sounds kinda... _trite,”_ she says. “You being home-schooled and all...”

Lilith shoots Maya a nervous glance. No offence taken.

“...but believe me. School kids are little shits. They're monsters, Maya. They can fuck you up. They can just totally mess you up.”

Lilith is rubbing her thigh. Lilith is pushing her fingers through her hair. Lilith is scratching her arm, just above the elbow. Lilith is rocking slightly in her chair. Lilith sucks up another breath, and continues.

“When I was a little girl...I was a Siren. And a freakin' nerd. _Tragic combination_ , right there. Hoo boy, I was _asking_ for trouble! I had a big 'ol target painted on my forehead.”

“The children bullied you?” Maya says, softly. By now, all hostility has faded from her expression.

“Yeah,” Lilith says, nodding. There's a grim smile on her face, now. Her eyes are fixed on something a million miles away. “And here's the funny thing. It wasn't until I moved into Frostburn Canyon that I had time to _think_ , you know?”

Lilith shifts in her seat, and begins to gesticulate wildly. Maya has abandoned her defensive manner entirely, by now – she's leaning forward, unconsciously encouraging Lilith to speak on.

“I mean, for years and years my life was just _crazy,”_ Lilith says. “I became a Vault Hunter, and I went to Pandora, and I fought Atlas, and then I was fighting Hyperion, and the Vault opened, and I had these crazy new powers to deal with, and New Haven was destroyed, and...and it sounds so weird, but it wasn't until I started living in Frostburn that things _slowed down._ I mean, I know! It sounds crazy! Freakin' Roland died, and, and you guys came along, and another Vault opened, but it's true! It wasn't until I set up shop in Frostburn that I had some peace and quiet. I was able to think.”

“What did you think about?” Maya says, gently.

Lilith snorts. “I thought about those little bastards I used to go to school with. The only schoolgirl you've ever met is Gaige, Maya. They're not usually that cool.”

Maya smiles. “I guess not.”

“Those kids, man. They really did a number on me. And it sounds so messed up, I know, but...Jack killed Roland, but those kids...they _really_ messed me up.”

Lilith digs her heel into the carpet. Lilith makes a clucking noise with her tongue.

“Anyway, what I'm trying to get at...I've probably mentioned this before, and I'm sure plenty of people have told you anyway, but...I was a total bitch when I first came to Pandora. I was snarky with everyone. I didn't care what people thought about me. And I was _so angry!_ I just wanted to kill bandits, and stick it to Atlas, and...I was so _pissed off_ at everything. I was too pissed off to realize what was happening to me.”

Lilith gulps and swallows.

“The Vault Hunters...they were my first friends, Maya. My first real friends. Roland. Mordecai. Brick. I was too frickin' angry to realize that. Too ticked off to realize...” Lilith shuts her eyes, tightly, and shakes her head. “They didn't judge me. For the first time in my life, I had a bunch of guys who didn't judge me. They looked at me, and they didn't see a freak, or a nerd, or a Siren...they just saw Lilith. And I couldn't get my head round that. I couldn't understand why those guys meant so fricking much to me. Not until I went to Frostburn.”

“Wow,” Maya says, smiling. “I never imagined that place would hold such fond memories for you.”

“Hah!” Lilith trails her fingernail along a pattern on the armrest. Lilith crosses her left leg over her right. “So, uh...why am I telling you this? Good question...”

Lilith flicks an invisible fleck of dirt from a cushion.

“Look...” Lilith braces herself, and then spits it out. “I love you guys, okay? All of you.” Lilith can only bring herself to look at Maya for a glance at a time. “I'd do anything for you... _anything_...just, just come back, okay? We'll smooth it out with Moxxi. We'll go to her damn bar. We'll drink her damn beer. Just...we need you back, Maya. We want you back.”

Lilith looks directly at Maya. She can't quite keep the _pleading_ from her eyes. It's decision time.

The clock ticks a moment.

There's _this thing_ that Maya does; this _quirk_ that she has.

She'll wrinkle her nose, and pout her lips, and lower her eyelids, and gaze at something with disdain. _No, no, no,_ her face seems to say. _I grew up in a palace, and I'm not impressed by this. I spent my life surrounded by splendour and riches, and I don't care for this at all._

And then a spark will enter her eyes, and the corner of her mouth will curl up, and she'll give the _slightest_ nod of satisfaction. _I've changed my mind. This pleases me after all._

Maya stares dully at Lilith for a few seconds...and then her lips break into a smile, and she nods.

Lilith lets her breath loose, and pats the armrests. “So...”

“Angel needs our help,” Maya says.

“Yep,” says Lilith. Then she remembers something. “Ha! You missed the most _amazing_ freak out, actually. As soon as Hyperion's money came in, Mordecai was making shopping lists, like, right away. He was buying weapons, and vehicles, and ships...you should have seen it, he was _so_ happy. And out of nowhere, Gaige starts shouting and yelling in front of everyone – _you jerk, you asshole, she's one of us, she's one of our own, we have to look out for our own, have you forgotten what it means to be a Vault Hunter, one of our friends needs us_ – she's just standing there in the middle of the control room, ranting, and at first Mordecai's trying to act all badass, but Gaige just keeps going and going, and eventually he's just standing there like a really sad old dog...”

Maya sniggers. She kinda would've liked to have seen that.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya has a big fight in three days. Afterwards, the Vault Hunters will reunite, and figure out what to do about Angel.

“Uuhh...” Lilith is about to leave for the night. “Are you...you know...”

“Yes,” Maya says. “I have developed an addiction to eridium.”

Lilith's face falls. “Well,” she says. “Guess we'll cross that bridge when it comes.”

Moxxi is dozing heavily by the mini-bar. Maya accompanies Lilith to the door, and bids her goodnight.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

  
  


**Chapter 14**

 

Moxxi knew this would happen.

Well, _of course_ she did. Moxxi always knew that the Vault Hunters would eventually come along and make nice with Maya. They'd come crawling back, like God-knows how many of Moxxi's ex-boyfriends, begging her for one last chance.

And naive, forgiving Maya would welcome them back with open arms.

It didn't bother Moxxi though.

So Maya and Lilith and Mordecai and Brick and all those other jackasses were friends again. No biggie. Nothing to lose beauty sleep over.

Moxxi knew that Maya was hers. _All hers_. Maya was _Moxxi's girl,_ now and forever.

Maya couldn't live without Moxxi. Moxxi made sure of _that_ several months ago.

Hey, in this universe, a girl's always gotta be ten steps ahead...

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

A few days after Lilith and her friends threatened Moxxi in her bar, Maya and Moxxi had packed their bags and hauled ass out of Pandora forever. Maya bundled her personal library into a bunch of containers, Moxxi locked her doors and boarded up her windows, and then Siren and manager hopped on a transport and left Pandora in the dust.

In the weeks and months that followed, did any of the Vault Hunters ever suspect that Maya was obsessively, feverishly stalking them?

Maya was no longer physically present – but she was there _in digital spirit._

Maya visited the Vault Hunter's social media pages over and over, several times a day each. She entered each of the Vault Hunters' names into every search engine there was, and devoured every morsel of news that she could find. She gobbled up every single echo cast that Gaige put out. She lurked in every forum that Tina and Lilith hung out in. Maya couldn't bear to miss a single word. Maya couldn't tolerate the thought of missing a single entry.

Maya had left her friends a million miles away. What was she _**THINKING**_ **?** _Well, Maya, you didn't think this through, did you?_ She couldn't hang out with her buddies any more. She couldn't talk to them any more. She couldn't joke with them any more. There would be no more Vault Hunting. There would be no more climbing onto vehicles and racing after bandits. There would be no more awesome loot, no more triumphing against Badasses, no more beer as the sun went down on Sanctuary. There was nothing left for Maya to do but haunt her former friends on the echo net.

Maya did her best to conceal her presence. She signed on under proxies and pseudonyms. She enabled 'Stealth' mode. She had an inkling that Angel knew she was there, but...that would probably be just another thing that Angel kept to herself, wouldn't it?

This the was the first time Maya had ever felt _lonely._ She wasn't ready for it. Nothing could prepare her. This was the first time the universe had seemed too _big_ , too _solitary._

When she destroyed the Order of the Impending Storm and left Athenas, it seemed to Maya that the universe was full of adventures and discoveries and challenges and experiences. When Maya left her homeworld, and set off into the galaxy, she promised herself that she would make up for the twenty-seven years that she had wasted in the monastery. She would taste a thousand different dishes. She would drink a thousand different beverages. She would read ten thousand books, and watch ten thousand different movies, and play ten thousand echo sims. She would visit a thousand cultures, and stand before a thousand vistas, and share her bed with a thousand fricking lovers!

When Maya abandoned Athenas, the galaxy didn't scare her. It _excited_ her. It intrigued her. It beckoned her forward, out into the stars.

Now? Now the universe was nothing but an endless succession of anonymous, sterile hotel rooms. Now the universe was nothing but a constant sequence of identical spaceships, carrying her from one spaceport to another. Now, the universe was comprised entirely of check-in desks, and room service, and suitcases full of clothes.

Now, the universe was a pair of _headphones_. There was a certain song that reminded Maya of the Three Horns. There was another song that reminded her of the Dust, and another that brought to mind the Highlands, and another Wurnwater, and another the Southern Shelf...

Maya seemed to listen to a heck of a lot of music, when she left Pandora.

And you know what? Yeah, Maya was angry. Maya was hurt. Maya was _pissed off._ Maya hadn't abandoned her friends – they'd abandoned _her_. For weeks and weeks, Maya checked her mail _every single hour,_ just to see if one of them had reached out to her. For weeks and weeks, Maya waited on edge, counting the seconds until she might receive a single message. Maya had survived fire, and bullets, and blades, and monsters, but all of a sudden something as simple as _**Inbox(1)**_ could send her heart ratcheting away at a thousand beats a minute.

When Maya left Pandora, she was left with nothing but Moxxi.

“Mmm, those jackasses could have burned down a million of my bars and it wouldn't have meant a thing,” Moxxi told her, once. “But it breaks my heart what they've done to my girl.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

One evening, Moxxi found Maya staring unhappily at nothing.

She was sitting on some luxurious sofa in some luxurious hotel room that was sure to vanish from her memory the moment she checked out. Moxxi gave a weary sigh. She knew that Maya's glumness of late was affecting her fighting abilities. When Maya hit the gym, it was obvious that her heart wasn't in it. When Maya went to train, it was clear to everyone that her mind was elsewhere.

Well, nothing to worry about. Moxxi knew she just had to feed Maya a few tomato cans until her mental state improved.

Maya's head was down. Her shoulders were sagging. Her eyes were glazed.

 _Well,_ Moxxi thought. _Strike when the iron's hhhhawt!_

Moxxi made her way over to Maya, heels tapping on the marble floor. Thumb and forefinger vanished into her cleavage, and then a small, cylindrical object was drawn out. “Take a look at this, honey,” she said, offering the object to her.

Maya emerged from her reverie with a blink. She reached out, and took the object in her fingers. It was a short glass vial, with a cork at the end. There was some substance inside it – _powder_. Tiny little crystals. “What is it?” she said, looking at Moxxi.

Moxxi extended her hand, and Maya returned the vial to her. “This?” Moxxi gave the vial a little shake, the powder within jostling about with the motion. “Honey, _this_ is known by a lot of different names. Velvet Dreams. Sweet Suicide. Crystal Bliss. Thyboruclearbiomonoclorine, but that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it?”

Maya furrowed her brow. “Why does it need so many names?”

“Well, I guess people find it _just that_ inspiring, don't they?” Moxxi sat herself on the edge of an armchair, directly facing Maya. “It's a _drug_ , sweetie. One of the most addictive in the galaxy. Every single little crystal in this vial holds a tiny little chunk of paradise. One little sniff, and you're in heaven.”

Maya's eyes widened. “Why is it _in our room?”_ she asked.

Moxxi gazed directly into Maya's eyes. There was more than a hint of _challenge_ in her expression. “Because I'm going to take it, baby,” she said. _“Right now._ I'm going to take a hit of this stuff, and I'm going to get higher than I've ever been, and you get to watch the entire show.”

Well, at least Maya wasn't sad and despondent any more. She was appalled and apoplectic, instead. _“Excuse me?”_ she said, streaks of lightning in her voice.

“A good showwoman never asks the talent to do something that she herself isn't willing to do,” Moxxi declared. “I'm tired of you not trusting me, babe. Maya.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Maya said, hands waving in the air. “I just abandoned my entire friggin' life to go _touring_ with you, Moxxi! When did I ever say I didn't _trust_ you?”

“It's in your eyes, sweetie,” Moxxi replied. Quivers of distress began to find their way into Moxxi's voice. Her make-up was perfect. The lipstick accentuated her pouts and her frowns _just right_. The eye shadow brought out the torment and misery _exquisitely._ “Let's face facts, kitten. You don't think I do my fair share, do you? You don't think I pull my weight. You knock back all that eridium, and I just pick up the paychecks. Well, tonight that changes. From now on, we're equals, honey. From now on, we're both junkies.”

Maya sprang to her feet. Arms straight, fists clenched, eyes deadly; her body language was screamingly, _screechingly_ obvious. _Give me that stupid powder stuff – I don't care what it's called –_ _ **right now**_ _and if you're lucky, I'll forget we ever had this conversation._

Moxxi rose from her chair. Back straight, eyelids low, mouth grim, vial gripped in her hand; her body language was pretty easy to read, too. _You're not gonna threaten me, hon. When I decide on something, I never back down._

Maya reached out, palm upturned, eyes stern. “Give it to me,” she said. She had every intention of flinging it off the balcony.

The eye shadow did a really great job of accentuating _intractable defiance,_ also. “I'm taking the hit, baby,” Moxxi said, “and there's nothing you can do about it.”

Over the course of that day, Maya had checked her messages forty-five times.

Forty-five times, Maya had logged into her mailbox, silently praying for that _**Inbox(1)**_.

Forty-five times, she had been disappointed.

As Moxxi watched, Maya's composure cracked and shattered.

Maya shut her eyes, tight as she could.

Maya growled and groaned.

Maya ground her teeth.

Maya raked her nails through her hair.

Maya screamed.

Maya phaselocked a lamp in the corner; it exploded in a shower of sparks and pottery and flickering, smouldering flame. She kicked a footrest and sent it crashing into a distant wall, a dent left in the plaster. With a roar, she batted the sofa, and shot it tumbling across the room.

Moxxi's mouth widened into the cliched 'O' of horror. “Wrecking hotel rooms, now, sugar?” she said. “But that's for _musicians!_ You're supposed to save your aggression for the _arena.”_

Maya paced around the room, hands on hips, eyes cast to the ceiling. “I'm so sick of this,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “I'm so sick of this.”

Moxxi wilted a little. “Oh, _baby...”_

Moxxi minced forward. Her hands went to Maya's waist, and she held her in place. Siren and manager stood there in the middle of the debris, Maya fuming, Moxxi peering at her, seemingly waiting for Maya's anger to drain away into her palms. “What have those hoodlums done to my girl?” she said.

Maya's lips were pressed tightly together. All the colour was gone from her skin. Her eyes were narrowed, and watery. Her head tilted and swivelled about; she looked at a mirror on a wall, and a bowl of fruit in an alcove, and the doors to the balcony, and the viewing screen across the room, and anywhere but Moxxi's face.

Moxxi gazed serenely at Maya. She couldn't keep the smile from her mouth. She couldn't keep the fondness from her eyes. It was as though Maya's rage might simply dissipate if Moxxi merely immersed her in affection.

“ _This is why I have to do this, kitten,”_ Moxxi said, her voice as soft and soothing and velvety as she could make it. “We're a _team_ , babe. I can't have you thinking that you've got the whole universe on your shoulders. You've got _me_ , beautiful. I'll always be in your corner.”

Maya glared at a curtain, and then glowered at a cushion, and then her eyes flicked to Moxxi. It was working. The frustration was seeping from her body, a brief fury rising from skin like steam from a hot surface.

Moxxi gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, as if she couldn't quite believe how intoxicated she was with this woman. “You've given me so damn much,” Moxxi whispered. “I just wish I could make you understand that I'm here for you.”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi placed the mirror on the table, and then arranged the powder on the glass, straightening the stuff with a razor blade. She had torn a scrap from a book, and then rolled it up so that it could serve as an improvised straw.

Maya was leaning against a nearby wall. Never before had she seemed so uncomfortable in her own skin. “Look, Moxxi,” she said. “I _really_ appreciate the gesture. _I truly do._ But you _don't_ have to do this...”

Moxxi bent over the mirror, and then she lifted her head, and gave Maya a saucy smile. She was making _damn_ sure that Maya got a good view of her cleavage. “I'm already hooked on you, sugar,” she said. “What's one more addiction?”

Moxxi gave Maya a wink. Then she placed her nostril upon the straw, and the straw against the powder.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Moxxi likes to get high when Maya is around.

What's the point of setting every synapse in your brain on fire, making every neuron _sizzle_ , if there's nothing beautiful, nothing sublime, to focus your mind upon?

Fuck sunsets.

Fuck the stars, twinkling in the night.

Moxxi wants to dwell upon her Siren. She wants to stare at her, gaze upon her. Moxxi wants to fill her head with flames, and then drift over every inch of skin.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Maya devours about five chunks of eridium a day, now, give or take.

It used to be that when Maya phaselocked her enemies, they would briefly be suspended in the air. Not any more. The eridium has changed her.

Now, when Maya phaselocks her enemies, they get dragged, kicking and screaming, into that strange world that Sirens partly inhabit. When Maya initiates phaselock, her enemies blink out of existence...and then they reappear a few moments later, babbling and ranting about the things they saw.

There are creatures in that world, Maya's victims say. Apparently. It's difficult to make sense of the words coming out of their mouths.

Maya doesn't use phaselock much these days. She's not about to become universally known as the woman who drives her opponents insane, thanks. That's not her _schtick_ , okay?

Maya can do fine without phaselock, thank you. The more eridium she absorbs, the stronger she becomes, the faster, the hardier. She's more formidable now than Lilith ever was.

Maya consumes five chunks of eridium each day. When it's just herself and Moxxi, Maya feels at ease just openly ingesting the stuff. For her part, Moxxi is happy to snort Crystal Bliss around Maya whenever she wants. They're comfortable around each other like that.

It's nice, Maya supposes, not being judged.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Borderlands and all of Pandora's residents are the intellectual property of Gearbox Software. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**Chapter 15**

 

The Vault Hunters arrive on Titan Lux. Some are more happy to be there than others.

“I can't believe I spent six weeks on a transport so that we could give some girl a freakin' pep talk,” Mordecai says.

“Angel gave us _a billion dollars,”_ Gaige says. “It won't kill you to say _thank you,_ you know.”

Six weeks cooped up on an interstellar shuttle, and now Mordecai is being admonished by a girl young enough to be his daughter. “Couldn't we a just, I dunno...wrote a _note_ , or somethin'?”

None of the Vault Hunters are in a good mood. They've just spent a month and a half surrounded on all sides by the vacuum of space. They've just spent over forty days watching stars drift by the porthole.

Six weeks of living in the same cramped cabins.

Six weeks of pacing up and down the same narrow corridors.

Six weeks without bandits to mutilate. Six weeks without guns to shoot.

In outer space, all it takes is for one single trigger to be pulled, and then the pressure drops and the air rushes out, and lungs shrivel up and all the oxygen in the blood starts doing all sorts of funny stuff. In outer space, all it takes is for someone to punch the wrong thing in frustration, and then the gravity fails, or the life support malfunctions, or the entire vessel judders suddenly to a halt.

When their shuttle finally touches down on Titan Lux, in the city of Munificence, the Vault Hunters are... _high-strung_ , to say the least. _Cranky_. _Irritable_. _Stressed._

Six weeks trapped on a spaceship. Six weeks of those same, strange sounds repeating in their ears.

Angel can wait. Right now, the Vault Hunters aren't in the mood for happy reunions. Right now, the only thing the Vault Hunters care about is getting utterly, hopelessly _blitzed._

The Vault Hunters pile off their vessel, and get ready to embark on a tour of the best bars and clubs that Munificence has to offer. Booze will be imbibed. Brain cells will be obliterated.

There's just one small problem.

Titan Lux is a _bureaucratic_ world. Titan Lux is a world obsessed with rules, and protocols, and red tape. When space vessels arrive from distant systems, all non-human, non-indigenous biological organisms on board have to be surrendered to quarantine.

There is no way in hell that Mordecai is going to hand Bloodwing over to goddamn quarantine.

He's grown too fricking big to hide inside luggage. Mordecai briefly considers setting him loose the moment they get out of the transport, and letting him hide among the high-rises and skyscrapers of Munificence...but he'd probably get shot down by some weird-ass robotic pest control or something.

So Mordecai decides he'll simply bribe the customs officials. He's just spent six weeks on a spaceship. He's not thinking straight.

“Aw, come on!” The cops have their knees on his neck and his face in the ground. They're twisting his arms behind his back and snapping cuffs on his wrists.

“Every time a Munificence cop bags himself a bribe-giver, they get a _bonus!”_ one of the arresting officer tells him. “Welcome to Titan Lux, idiot!”

Usually, when Mordecai is threatened, Bloodwing will launch into action, ripping out throats and spilling guts on the ground. Not now, though, no. Right now, Bloodwing is just perching unhappily on a table, glaring resentfully at his master as the cops fasten a collar around his neck. Mordecai just got him a holiday in a quarantine facility. Asshole.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Axton asks himself:

_When the hell did we become such a bunch a wusses?_

_I went to Pandora for adventure! And glory! And because I was sentenced to death by execution squad, but mainly for adventure and glory! And now I've come all the way to this fancy-ass planet just to ask this creeptastic girl to climb back into the Vault Hunters' tree house._

_And it's not just me. I've seen Salvador break men's kneecaps so he could chase them down in Technicals, laughing his ass off the whole time, and now he's come to the swankiest, swishest world in the galaxy, just to ask a Siren to hang out with us again. I've seen Zer0 slice a thousand bandits into little pieces, and now he's on Titan Lux to help with Angel's little self-esteem problem, cause he's worried that if he doesn't, Gaige'll give him the silent treatment._

_What the hell happened to us?_

Axton and Salvador are on the streets of the city, checking out the Munificence nightlife. Axton's wearing this cashmere suit he picked up in Opportunity, just before they left Pandora. Bespoke! Bought a whole bunch of them; hey, he's a millionaire, now; may as well look the part.

Unfortunately, tonight Axton is the only Vault Hunter that _made an effort._

“The hell is a _'dress code'?”_ Salvador asks, brow furrowed in confusion. They're standing outside the entrance to a fancy club, a pack of black-clad bouncers in front of the door, all sunglasses and earpieces.

Axton tries to play the conciliator. “Listen, guys, uh...I'm not sure my friend here is gonna look any prettier, even if you put him in a suit. Get what I'm saying?”

“We run a sophisticated, classy establishment,” the head bouncer – a guy who seems to take a _hugely_ unwarranted pride in his place of work – says. He points at Axton. “ _You_ can come in.” At Salvador. _“He_ stays out. If our clientele wanted to look at bums and slobs, then they could step out onto the streets!”

“ _Oohohohoho!”_ Salvador cracks his knuckles, and Axton gives a sigh. “I see. So I am not pretty enough for your service! Well, I think I know what to do! Maybe you let me inside if everything is a little bit _uglier,_ no?”

The bouncer's nose is just out of Salvador's reach. Not a problem. Salvador buries his fist in the guy's belly; he doubles over in pain, _et voilà_ – nose within range. Salvador fires off an uppercut, and now blood is gushing down the bouncer's face in a really satisfying way.

The rest of the security begin yelling and crowding around the diminutive little thug that just brutalized their colleague. Behind Axton, there's a long line of revellers and party-goers, all attired in the latest Titan Lux fashion, all waiting to get in. They begin to clap and cheer as a brawl erupts before them.

Axton rolls his eyes to the light-polluted sky, and groans. Great.

_Well, I went six weeks without violence. New record, I guess._

Axton wades in. He looses off a left-right, and a bouncer topples into the dirt. Salvador scoops a guy clean off the ground, cackling madly, and launches him screaming through the air.

Axton's never fought in a suit before. At least he looks really good.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Three hours go by, and then Brick decides that Munificence is _goddamn bullshit._

At first, he was really excited to be here! Munificence is bright lights. Munificence is massive, towering skyscrapers. Munificence is massive-ass viewscreens showing music videos and cute cartoons. Munificence is jaunty pop ditties pouring out of electronics stores.

For the first twenty minutes or so, Brick was happily trotting around the streets, feasting on the sights. Munificence has something of the adult theme park about it. Everything is bright and colourful.

Then Brick began to get hungry.

Right now, Brick just wants to find a nice restaurant. Brick wants hamburgers. Brick wants fries. Brick wants soda to wash it all down.

But Munificence is _so confusing_.

Climb into a transport and look at the city from thousands of feet in the air, Munificence looks perfect and pristine. Get down to street-level, however, and you'll quickly see how horribly planned the layout of the city really is. It's a dazzling confusion of flashing lights and befuddling sounds, and alleys and sidestreets and roadways.

It doesn't help that the streets are always thronged with pedestrians and moving traffic.

It doesn't help that, in Munificence, everything looks the same.

“Goddamn streets,” Brick rumbles, passersby glancing strangely at the muscle-bound colossus talking to himself. “Why's it gotta be so damn _complicated?”_

Brick walks for miles and miles. He goes round in circles. He tries to retrace his steps, but only ends up in strange places. He tries the Fast Travel system a few times, but that only serves to make him even more disorientated.

Brick spent six weeks on a spacecraft. He's seven-foot-three and three hundred and twenty pounds, and he just spent six weeks in a tin can. He's tired. He's hungry. He's lost. He's getting more and more pissed off, and he's not sure how much more of this he's gonna take.

_Alright, Brick, alright. Nothing to worry about._

_You know what to do._

_When you get lost, all you gotta do is make note of specific, recognizable landmarks._

Landmarks.

In Munificence, everything looks the same.

In Munificence, everything looks identical.

_Well, nothing to worry about. Guess I just gotta make some landmarks._

On a street corner, Brick flips a luxury car, and then sets it on fire. A really expensive car, upside-down, on fire. Landmark.

On a main street, Brick sends a gigantic sign crashing across the road, causing a dozen-vehicle pile-up. A dozen vehicles sandwiched together. Landmark.

In a pedestrianized area, Brick smashes a window, and then smashes the shit out of the mannequins within. Shattered glass, window dummies with their clothes ripped up. Landmark.

After a while, Brick feels like he's beginning to catch his bearings.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

The Vault Hunters all feel a _teensy_ bit bad when Gaige stalks into view.

“You all got arrested _on the same night?”_ she says, from the other side of the bars. She's all dolled up. At some point during the evening, someone drew mouse whiskers on her with a thick marker. It doesn't make her look any less pissed off.

“Sorry, kid,” Axton says. Axton, Salvador, Brick and Mordecai – the Munificence police knew that they'd kick the crap out of any normal criminal, so they locked them all up in the same cage. “Guess we had to let off some steam, you know?”

“ _Steam?”_ Gaige snaps, not bothering to keep the volume low. _“Nuh uh!_ You all want to get kicked off this planet, don't you? You don't want to have to deal with Angel, so you're all trying to get the po-lice to _deport_ your asses, aren't you?”

“Naw, Slab, that ain't it,” Brick says, shaking his head.

“Hey, Gaige!” Salvador throws up his hands. “You know that lateral thinking hurts my head.”

Mordecai shrugs. “Maybe...” he says.

Gaige narrows her eyes at Mordecai. “I paid your bail at the desk,” she says, turning to leave. “They told me it's probably gonna take 'em about sixteen hours to do the paperwork, though. Bureaucracy!”

The Vault Hunters look at Gaige as she walks away. Then they look at each other.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Someone was waiting for Gaige outside the police station. Some guy she met at a club. He was pretty enough, with a nice car. She brought him back to the stupendously luxurious hotel at which she was staying, and led him to her room.

When she was done with him, Deathtrap materialized out of nothing and kicked his ass out. Yeah, that was her favourite part.

Afterwards, Gaige is sprawled on her plus-sized bed, surfing the echo net on the room's enormous viewscreen. It seems Titan Lux gets the same crappy casts and movies as Pandora, and everywhere else in the universe.

The minutes tick by, and then suddenly the hotel room is overlaid with white and blue interference. A ghostly face superimposes itself upon Gaige's vision.

“You didn't have to come here, you know,” Angel says, a voice in Gaige's ear.

Gaige reaches for the remote control, meaning to mute the viewscreen...and then a thought occurs to her. “Wait a minute,” she says, unnerving scenarios assembling themselves in her mind. “Were you just watching me _screw?”_

Ever since the Vault Hunters entered Titan Lux's space, Angel has been rehearsing a conversation that she knew she would inevitably be forced to have. She never expected it to stray into _this_ particular area. _“What?”_ she says, flustered. “No.”

Gaige stares dubiously at her a moment, but then lets it go.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Things are awkward, at first. Small talk is not something Angel will ever have much understanding of.

“So,” Gaige says, drumming her fingers on her knee. “How do you like your new world?”

Angel allows the question to hang for a moment. “Do you want an honest answer?” she says.

Gaige gives a shrug. _Sure._

Angel wonders where to begin. “When I lived on Pandora, I could see everything,” she says. “This...this was while Jack was still alive, you understand? While I was still connected to the Hyperion network. I could see _everything._ I never missed anything. All across the world, people were living their lives; bandits, and criminals, and innocent people, and Crimson Raiders, and Vault Hunters – they were all just trying to survive on this planet, and I could see it all. Every moment of it. I could see all this, all this _life,_ unfolding before me. Beneath me.”

“And...none of them ever knew I was there, but _I was._ I was always there. And...we...we _shared_ things. Moments. When the people of Pandora faced incredible adversity, I was there. With them. _I was there!_ And when they triumphed over impossible odds...I was there, also! Heh heh heh! I...it was fun. Sometimes, a gang of bandits would topple a Badass rakk hive, or a squad of Crimson Raiders would destroy a swarm of mutated varkids. And they never even suspected that I was watching...but I was there! I was with them! And they'd be laughing, and cheering, and high-fiving, and clapping each other on the back, and...it made me _happy_. It made me feel good. Even though they couldn't see me. Or hear me. Even though I was just a ghost.”

Angel briefly averts her eyes, but it's difficult to hide your emotions from someone when your image is literally flickering in their mind. “And then you guys came along, and you freed me,” she says. “And...yeah. It was nice.”

Angel looks directly at Gaige. “I have reconnected myself to the Hyperion network,” she says. “Just as before. Just as things once were. Except...things are not as they were, are they? I'm not on Pandora, any more. I'm on Titan Lux, and...well, it's different.”

Angel raises an eyebrow. “What do you think of Titan Lux, Gaige?”

“It's pretty cool,” Gaige says. “I mean, I'll probably like it better when I'm not suffering from freaking _dire_ lag.”

Angel gives a wry smile. “There are no bandits on Titan Lux. No Crimson Raiders. No rakk. No varkids. No bullymongs.” Her nose wrinkles. “On Titus Lux, there are...businessmen. Businesswomen. Shareholders. Chairpersons. Presidents. Vice-presidents. Executives. Lawyers. Lobbyists. Office workers. Efficiency officers. Motivational speakers.”

“Eeew...” Gaige says.

“I see everything,” Angel says, and now certain consonants receive a certain pronunciation _just_ to let Gaige know _just_ how distasteful she finds the entire situation. “Everything that happens on Titan Lux. And it's not like Pandora at all.”

“Sucks,” Gaige says.

“Yeah,” Angel concurs. “I keep the Hyperion Corporation operating at peak efficiency, but Blake also has me carrying out corporate espionage. It's not as exciting as it sounds.”

“It doesn't sound very exciting,” Gaige interjects.

“Mmmm.”

Silence a while. Angel gazes morosely into the distance.

“Angel,” Gaige says, at last.

Angel looks up.

“Come back with us.”

There's yearning in Angel's eyes. _Longing._ “Three months ago,” Angel says, “a billion dollars vanished from Hyperion's accounts. That was my payment for returning to Hyperion. Do you imagine Blake is going to simply forgive and forget if I leave again?”

“Who _cares_ what that creep-ass thinks?” Gaige says, fire blazing to life in her eyes. “C'mon, come with us to Arius, Angel! If that weirdo comes after you, it'll be me, Lilith, Maya...”

Angel's eyes widen. _“Maya?”_ she says.

“Maya and Lilith are on their way here to Titan Lux right now, Angel!” Gaige has a delirious grin on her face, now...and then said grin vanishes just as quickly. “And Moxxi, too...geez, can't believe I used to like that woman...” Gaige's mind wanders a second, and then her attention ricochets back to Angel. “This is a rescue mission, girl! We've come to pull your ass out of Hyperion! Come on, Angel! Vault Hunters are where it's at! If Hyperion wanna start some shit, then bring it on! Mebbe if we kick the crap out of 'em a second time, they'll get the picture!”

Angel's eyes are aglow. Angel returned to Hyperion because the Vault Hunters were falling apart, but if Maya is back...

A question comes.

What were the happiest days of Angel's life?

When her mother was still alive? Yes...but that's gone. Those days can never be recovered.

Apart from that, what was the happiest time in Angel's life?

Well, is there really any contest?

She had to haul that massive Eridium Injector around everywhere she went.

She had to endure countless surgeries and amputations.

She had to contend with murderous black moods that threatened one of the only friendships she ever had.

But that was all irrelevant. _Meaningless_. Angel knows when she was happiest. Angel knows when she was most joyful.

Those few months she spent in Sanctuary.

Those few months she spent practising phaseshift on unfamiliar technology. Those few months she spent with Gaige playing echo sims into the early hours of the morning. Those few months she spent going to the Torgue Arena, watching Maya kick the stuffing out of her opponents.

Maya has returned to the Vault Hunters. Gaige is here, on Titan Lux. Maya and Lilith will be arriving soon. Hell, _Moxxi_ will be arriving soon. Moxxi can wink at Angel and shoot off her innuendos, and Angel can snigger and smile nervously.

That life is within reach again.

Those happiest months of her life are just within sight again.

“Okay,” Angel says, slightly breathless. “I'll...I'll leave Hyperion. I wanna come with you guys.”

“Yay!” Gaige claps delightedly. “After we've had some R&R, we'll put together a strike team, and pull your no-doubt atrophied and emaciated ass out of Hyperion HQ!”

Angel seems pained, all of a sudden. “Ummm...there's just one problem...”

Gaige blinks. “What?”

“Well, in order to take control of Hyperion once more, I had to expose myself to eridium again.” Angel fidgets uncomfortably. “I...I'm...”

A girl who hacked off her own arm is not going to judge a woman who intentionally exposed herself to substance addiction. “Oh, yeah!” Gaige says, unexpectedly upbeat. “Umm...actually, Lilith says she may have some kind of _solution_ to that...I didn't really understand what she meant, but...yeah. You'll just have to wait until she gets here. She can tell you.”

“Oh,” Angel says, clearly uncertain about this. “Okay.” For the life of her, she can't imagine what Lilith has in mind.

A big yawn comes, and Gaige doesn't bother trying to conceal it. “Need to get some shut-eye, Angel,” she says. “Six weeks on that shuttle – eeesh! Umm...we're probably gonna need to crash for a few days before we can come get you.”

Angel gives a warm smile. “Don't worry,” she says. “Make sure you get some good rest.”

Gaige sniggers evilly. “Hee hee! Oh, I'll be getting good rest, tonight. Mordecai, Brick, Axton and Salvador probably won't, ha ha!”

“Oh, I freed them several hours ago,” Angel says, matter-of-factly.

“ _What?”_ Gaige says, eyes bulging.

“Yeah.” Angel stares blankly at her, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Hyperion Corporation has considerable influence upon the police force of this world.”

“Hyperion can just have prisoners _released_ , just like that?” It takes a moment for this to sink in, and then Gaige's face wrinkles with disgust. _“Ugh!_ The police aren't supposed to serve _corporations!_ They're supposed to serve the people!”

“Smash the system!” Angel exclaims, quick as a flash.

“I know, right?”


End file.
